Don't Forget Your Pup
by MawillaMakesMayhem
Summary: "A man who slays his innocent brothers is no man at all." He was a creature driven by blood, death, and pain. Isolated from society, he spent his days wandering Skyrim with a new outlook on how to survive, how to live. He was the heir to the throne of Windhelm, and the High King's little pup. Rated T for violence and language. Contains slash in later chapters. (On hiatus.)
1. Written on the Wall

**A/N: Hi there! I might as well give bits of background, eh? Well, I've been reading stories on this site for a while now, mainly ones revolving in the Elder Scrolls universe. I never thought of creating a fanfic of my own until I came across one on this site when Skyrim came out. Long story short, I grew fascinated (or attached, however you want to say it) with Ulfric Stormcloak and my own character. Therefore, I wanted to go in depth with the relationship my character has with Ulfric. So, this story you have stumbled upon was born. **

**Also, this is my _first ever fanfic._ Depending on your opinion, I can promise that my writing gets better in later chapters_—_getting more comfortable with the site, you know?**

**I'll let you read now. I hope you like it. :)  
****-Mawilla**

* * *

_**Don't Forget Your Pup**_

**Chapter One**

The sky over Windhelm was a light purple, the sun rising from the edge of the sea. Stars in the night disappeared gradually as the new day began. Fluffy snow fell delicately onto the city, the stone streets covered in a light fluffy white. Instead of the loud drunks from the inn, the only other sounds were the footsteps of the guards, goose bumps appearing on their exposed biceps. It was peaceful, serene; birds were chirping, and the wind was blowing softly.

The Argonian Assemblage was a different story. The wooden door was imbrued with crimson, a smell of death in the air. Limbs were thrown across the docks; the bodies hacked and stabbed to pieces. The corpses' eyes were ripped out, their jawbones exposed from the deeply torn skin, and their ears were no longer present. This could've been the work of amateur, or even a savage being.

The two guardsmen stood over their fallen comrades; however the stench was more appalling to them then the marred corpses.

"Sweet Talos…" Finrir, a guard, muttered to himself as he stood over the bodies. He held the torch close to his face, the light illuminating off of the metal of his helmet. His eyes locked onto the empty eye-sockets of the dead bodies, the stench singing in his nostrils strongly.

The other soldier, kneeling down close to the disfigured corpses, shook his head in disbelief. "Gods, look at this mess_—_"

"How could _anyone_ get away with this?" Finrir spat out, tightly gripping the hilt of his steel sword. "Gods, Tiljor... look at this! I swear, if Ulfric doesn't do somethi_—_"

"Hey," Tiljor said, cutting his friend off. He rose gradually, rubbing his hands together. "I'm sure the Jarl will do something, Fin, but with the war..." he paused for a moment, scanning the bodies in front of them. He felt a jab of disgust, trying not to gag from the stench.

The two friends stood there in silence, a silence driven by the fact that three Nords they knew in their childhood was lying dead on the chilly pavement. Beneath his helmet and animosity, Finrir felt his eyes burning; Tiljor knew his full-blooded Nordic heart was sinking. All five of them joined the Stormcloaks together, took their oaths together, and killed Imperials together. Ever since their mamas put them to fool around together in their playpens, something between them stayed. It was a bond that stayed with them, a bond strong enough to call them brothers.

In the dead silence, footsteps were heard in the distance. The two guards turned around and saw the Jarl with an entourage of guards. The look on the Jarl's face was bitter, and perhaps sour, Tiljor noted.

"What in Oblivion happened?" Ulfric demanded, eyeing the dead guards for a moment, and then looking at Fin and Tiljor with a rather abashed face.

Fin shot a look at Tiljor, a stab of fear from Ulfric's authoritative presence. Of course, the Bear had always made Finrir turn into a dog with his tail between his legs.

"We don't know, sir," Tiljor spoke, knowing Fin would've been too nervous to say anything. "Finrir and I were... uh, patrolling the docks and we found the... bodies... here."

Ulfric's face darkened, despite the light from the sun. Even though he was abruptly woken by the Captain of the guard, he looked handsome. Light bags were noticeable through the sunlight underneath his eyes, and his hair looked like he rubbed his fingers through it. But to Finrir, Ulfric was scary no matter what he looked like.

The Jarl moved past the two guardsmen and looked at the three Nord bodies. "Gods…" he muttered to himself, placing the back of his hand on his nose.

"This doesn't look like the Butcher's work that for damn sure," the Captain of the guard said underneath his snow-covered helmet.

"It's not," Ulfric said, placing his hair behind his ear. A yawn forced its way out of his mouth as he glanced at the Captain. "I want a full investigation on this," he said, his powerful voice making Finrir shake with consternation. "Finrir, Tiljor," the Bear said, turning his attention onto the two guards. "Investigate the bodies, find anything you can."

Tiljor and Finrir stood in place, letting the task of searching their friends' dead corpses sink in.

_"Now!"_ Ulfric commanded. Immediately, the two friends got to work, or at least pretended to.

The Jarl engaged in conversation with the Captain. Tiljor and Fin both kneeled down onto the cold pavement, reluctantly touching the frigid corpses.

Tiljor looked at this friend, noting the apathetic and hesitant movement of his body. He placed his hand onto the grip of his dead friend's steel axe, placing it aside."You alright, Fin?" he said as gently as he could, placing a hand on Finrir's shoulder, trying to comfort him.

Finrir sighed, lifting the other corpse's arm, noting the stab wounds on it. He tried his best to ignore the disturbing, disfiguried faces of his dead friends.

"Oh no, I'm completely fine…" the Nord said in a sarcastic tone. _Of course I'm not alright, idiot! _he thought spitefully. He tugged at the corpse's armor out of frustration, playing with the stained blue fabric.

The sun had fully risen in the sky, the snowfall become a bit heavier than before. The air, although numbing, had suddenly become heavy and hard to breathe in. The guards got to work: looking for clues, checking the bodies, and, reluctantly, asking the Argonians if they saw or heard anything. The lizards didn't see or hear anything, which made things more annoying from the Captain.

"Gods' blood!" he cursed in frustration. "Two hours and still nothing!"

"I don't think this is going to go anywhere…" Tiljor whispered to Fin, who stood beside him as they examined the Assemblage.

Fin chuckled, "He thinks we're going to find something in two hours? Please! No one trace of the killer here."

_Stupid bastard. Wonder why he ever became Captain anyway, _Tiljor thought to himself.

"Wait a second! I think I found something!" the voice of a guard called out.

Tiljor and Fin turned their attention away from the Assemblage when they heard the familiar voice. They shared a glance to each other before stepping outside, glad to be away from the Assemblage's humid air.

A guard kneeling down to the stone wall behind the corpse pointed to some caked blood. "Look there," he said, pointing to a sloppily written message.

The Captain, rubbing the snow away from his eyes, knelt down beside his fellow soldier. Squinting, he took a good look at it. _I swear to Talos if this is a joke... _he thought to himself.

He stared hard at the blood. "Wait…" he said in a sigh of what seemed like relief. "I see it!" he said as if he had just one a million gold pieces.

Tiljor shot a look at Finrir, who was deeply focused on what the Captain and the guard had found. The others huddled closely together mainly to see the message, but also for body warmth.

Sighing, the guard who discovered the message pointed his finger at the badly written words, which were inscribed with the blood of the victims, and begun to read them aloud.

"Don't… Forget…" he paused for a moment, moving closer to the wall until he was almost nose-to-nose with it. "Your... Your..." he said, snapping his fingers at the last word.

"It looks like 'pup'," the Captain blurted out. "'Don't forget your pup'."

"Well now, what in Oblivion is that supposed to mean!?" one of the other guards, who just finished carrying away the bodies, said.

The Captain stood up, his knees cracking. He rubbed off the snow from his knees and sighed, "Don't know. Our best idea is to bring this to the steward or the Jarl even… Bring 'em any evidence from this. Now, Hedlir," he said, looking at one of the guards in the group. "Bring this… whatever _this_ is," he looked at the message on the wall, "to the steward. He'll know what to do from there."

"Yes, sir," Hedlir nodded, and made his way back into the city, his footsteps leaving marks in the snow.

"Good job, Beljer," the Captain said as if he was unimpressed, and patted the guard's back.

"Hey Til," Finrir whispered softly to his friend.

"Yeah?"

"What do you think that means?" Finrir replied, hugging himself, trying to keep himself warm. Inside however, he felt his stomach turning, still not over the sight of his friends' disfiguried faces…

"What, the message?" Tiljor shrugged. "How am I supposed to know? Only the killer can know at this point… Sick bastard must be out of his mind."

He was right. The killer did know, and in his sick mind, it was the Jarl's fault. The Jarl was responsible; the Jarl had to be blamed. One mistake on the Jarl's part cost the lives of three innocent Nords. Was it worth it? Probably not, but the killer wasn't getting away _that _easily.

After all, you can never forget your pup.


	2. Scars Still Linger

**Chapter Two**

Feeling a gust of wind blow in his face, he marched on. His eyes watering, his stomach growling; he had every opportunity to chase a deer and eat its meat, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to do it. But where was he headed? It was a question perhaps any traveler could answer, but he couldn't. The young Nord fought more than enough bitterly cold nights lost in the forest, waiting for a town or a city in sight. Still, no city was in his sight. No city, no town, no nothing.

He hugged himself, trying to keep warm. His blue-green eyes looked upwards towards the night sky, looking at the brightest star he could find. In a sense, that bright star almost gave him comfort for reasons only he knew.

_I hope my father is having fun, _he thought, his mind wandering. He then looked back on his latest 'job', if you could call it that. So much blood, so much… well, death. Of course, he earned quite a bit of gold from the bodies, and perhaps a souvenir as well…

He rubbed his eyes, which felt like they were burning from the arctic air. Then, he saw it… Burned Imperial towers, ruined wooden buildings… He didn't care, it was civilization. Taking one look at the destroyed town, he bolted towards it.

Breathing heavily, he almost ran into the large, rather heavy wooden door. Placing his bruised and dry hand on the doorknob, he grinded his teeth, the veins in his arms becoming more noticeable than before.

His arms aching, he ran past the door before it closed, letting go of it. The Nord was on his knees on the dirt of the road, his limbs aching, wanting a place to rest. Taking deep breaths, the air around him burned his lungs.

But no one approached him, no one helped him get up, no one's voice was heard… probably because all of them either fled or were dead.

He looked up, his tired eyes scanning the area. He looked around in disbelief, he was there… the last place he saw his father…

_"Hidar… go with Ralof," his father yelled at him, taking a fellow Stormcloak's axe_ _and cutting his wristbands with impatient hands. Fear was a rare thing in his father's eyes, but Hidar could've seen a glint of it in that moment. _

_"Sir, we can't stay here! That… that thing will take the tower down any minute!" a vigorous blonde Nord called out, his icy eyes wide. _

_Hidar rubbed his wrists, which were red from the irritation of the bands. He stood near his father, holding his arm, not wanting to let go. _

_"Ralof!" his father shouted, the ear-piercing sounds of fire, shouts, and commands overpowering the voices in the tower. _

_Hidar's father stumbled towards this Ralof fellow as Hidar clung tightly onto his father's arm. "Ralof!" his father called out, stealing the blonde's attention from another Stormcloak's injuries. _

_"What, sir!?" _

_"Ralof, take my son…" _

_Hidar looked at his father, a feeling of distress storming over him. Separating from his father? It was an unbearable thought to the seventeen year old. _

_"Hidar, go with Ralof," his father said to him breathlessly as Ralof took hold of the young Nord's arm. _

_"What, no… Father!" Hidar called out, wanting his voice to be heard among the chaos. He pushed away Ralof's grip and ran to his father, burying his face in his chest. _

_"Hidar, there's no time!" his father responded, a fire gleaming in his eyes, a fire that replaced the fear that was there before; he grabbed his son's arms and repelled him. _

_The tower shook, Hidar's heart pounding. He couldn't leave his father, he couldn't leave him…_

_His father grabbed a hold of his son's shoulders, locking eyes with him. _

_"Hidar…" he looked into his son's eyes. "You have to trust me… Now, go!" _

"You have to trust me…" he mumbled to himself. He sat on his knees on the road, remembering his father and Ralof, death and fire all around. Hidar's arms shook as he lifted himself off the ground, looking back up at that bright star up there, lost in the millions of others.

Questions aroused in his head that were all left unanswered. Where, and who, was Ralof? Was his father still alive, or gods forbid, dead even? Would his father recognize him, remember him even after all these years? What about Hadvar? Was he alri-

Wait… Hadvar.

Memories flushed back to Hidar, but it was too much…his father, Helgen, and now Hadvar. The big Nord he used to call his best friend…Oh, how they would stay up late together, pull stupid pranks on his uncle, have deep talks about Hidar's father and the war. Hidar gave a small smile, remembering that brave brunette legionnaire.

_But, Hidar, Riverwood's up the road from here, _his conscience told him. No, he couldn't. He couldn't return, especially since he was a different person now…

Hidar gathered up his strength, returning to his favorite sleeping spot in the destroyed inn. When he approached the queen sized, fur covered bed, he crashed on it. Looking up at the wooden ceiling, he grabbed an old bottle of mead that he left lying on the floor a few months prior. He grabbed it with shaky hands, his eyes drooping. Hidar drank it for a second, and then threw it at the wall, making it shatter into a garden of broken glass. Making a face at its sour taste, he caved in into his sleepiness, closing his eyes. Trying to forget all the problems he had caused and his father had caused, he felt a point of satisfaction with his eyes closed. As his mind slowed, he drifted off into a deep sleep.


	3. Empty Inside

**Chapter Three**

Hedlir walked into the Palace, his eyes locked on the throne. His lungs burned from jogging in the arctic air, his throat feeling like it was fire. He sped past the long dining table, and stopped himself in front of the empty throne. He stared at the majestic throne, looking at the old stonework and slightly ripped blue fabric. Unlike Finrir, Hedlir was never afraid of Ulfric or the senior guards, which made him Fin's pillow for situations that involved any of the higher-ups.

"What are we waiting for!? Now is the time to attack!" Hedlir's gaze focused itself onto the door of the war room, where he heard Galmar's agitated and hyper voice.

As Hedlir made his way to the door, Ulfric replied, "We can't attack now, Galmar. Our armies have to-"

"That's what you've been saying for months now!" Galmar snapped as Hedlir gradually opened the door, its creaking sounds bringing him attention.

"What, oh, Hedlir…" Galmar said as he glared at the soldier with a riled look. The Jarl rested his hands on the table, turning around for a moment to look at Hedlir.

_Gods, he looks terrible, _Hedlir thought as he examined the Bear. _The war must be gettin' to him. _

Hedlir cleared his throat, "Sir, we've got some… a message. We got a message from the docks."

Galmar looked at him, puzzled. The last time he and Ulfric got a message was from one of the Stormcloak camps, but the two listened anyway.

"What type of message?" Ulfric asked, still looking at Hedlir.

_Here we go, Hedlir. Psh, they're probably going to laugh, _the solider thought to himself. "It said 'don't forget your pup'."

Galmar let out a deep laugh while Hedlir glanced at Ulfric, who was wide eyed. The soldier could've sworn he saw a glint of bewilderment in the Jarl's eyes.

Ulfric shot a look at Galmar, whose face was a light red. "Galmar, Galmar… calm down!"

Galmar, despite embracing his laughter, had enough mind to contain himself. "Oh… oh, sorry," he said, smiling.

Hedlir stood there, smiling underneath his helmet. Watching Galmar do his belly laugh always made him giggle; of course, that's why he admired the old Nord.

"Hedlir," Ulfric said, turning to the soldier. "Thank you for bringing this to us, but… Galmar and I have some speaking to do."

Hedlir, staying loyal to the Bear, nodded and obeyed him, leaving the room. He closed the door behind him, as if all the air had been sucked out of the room; it was unbearable and heavy. Hedlir took a deep breath, and made his way back to the docks.

Ulfric looked at his right-hand man. "Galmar, do you have any idea what that means?"

The old Nord walked over to the table, placing his hands on it. As he stared at Solitude on the map, he said, "Not really. Besides, anyone could've written that and… wait a second."

Galmar looked up at Ulfric, whose glare was frightening. His eyes had a dark emotion, an emotion that the old man couldn't recognize.

"Galmar… You and I both know who Pup is," the Jarl said darkly.

Galmar looked back down at the map of Skyrim, looking at the red and blue miniature flags. "Wait," he began. "Isn't Pup-"

"Yes, it's him," Ulfric said, cutting him off. He walked over to the window, and watched the snow fall heavily from the baby blue sky. Did Pup really murder the guards? No…he couldn't! He was too sweet, too loving, and too innocent. Ulfric rubbed his forehead, contemplating if his little boy resorted to murder.

"Ulfric… if he did this… it is possible," Galmar said, turning around to look at the Jarl. Of course, even the fierce Nord knew no words could help the Jarl when it came to Pup.

"He's just a child, Galmar!" Ulfric protested, not wanting to look the old man in the eye. "He's just a _boy._"

Galmar did the math in his head. How long has it been? Three, four years at least? Gods, it's been that long? The old man felt like it was yesterday since he saw the young Nord. _He's twenty… one now? _Galmar thought.

"He's twenty-one," the old man blurted out. "He's a grown man now, Ulfric."

Ulfric shot a glare at Galmar, the darkness in his eyes becoming more apparent than before. "He may be a man now, Galmar, but he still needs his father!"

Ulfric returned his glare to the window, not saying anything more. Galmar stared at him; he knew the Jarl well enough to try not to convince him that Pup wasn't a child anymore. Of course, this was always a sensitive subject, especially when this "child" was involved. Galmar almost missed the boy, who ran around biting everyone's knees. Yeah, he was a pain sometimes, but now the old man knew he took all those bedtime stories and 'pretend' games for granted.

"Ulfric…" Galmar said. "He couldn't have done it… He couldn't have!"

The Bear covered his eyes with his hand, a hunger for the truth rising. "Where is my boy, Galmar?"

It was a difficult question to answer.

* * *

The sunlight peeked through the wooden walls as he snuggled up against the furs of his bed, a warmness engulfing him. Hidar pulled the furs to his face; he listened to the dim sound of the wind blowing against the trees outside. He felt his stomach rumble, begging for breakfast. He had no desire to get up, eat, or bathe. A lazy start to the day? Yeah, you could say that.

The young Nord opened his eyes, squinting at the bright sunlight. He let his arms go from underneath the furs and stretched, releasing the tension from his muscles. Pushing the tangled hair away from his eyes, his feet landed on the ground, a chill embracing his scarred, exposed arms. He looked around the rather empty room that used to be the common room of the Helgen Homestead. A scintillating material caught his eye as he rose from the bed.

He grabbed his steel warhammer, his arms feeling heavy from the Nordic steel. Hidar smirked as he placed the weapon on his back with food being the first thing on his mind. His conscience still telling him to sleep, he made his way outside.

Licking his chapped lips, he cracked his knuckles as he dragged himself outside Helgen. Breathing in the crisp, cool air, he walked into the forest, which was much less scary than it was at night. His stomach growled; he felt empty inside. Hidar looked around, jumping at the slightest movement of the bushes. He didn't want to miss the opportunity to kill a deer and fill his belly.

Wandering around like a lost fool, Hidar looked all around. Rubbing his fingers against the grass, he pictured a feast with dumplings, sweetrolls, mead, chicken, venison… All he wanted was food, shoving it in his face. Oh, how Sifnar would cook juicy meat, and sweetrolls... or how him and his father would eat together.

His father…

Hidar shivered, pushing back his father's memory when he spotted a wolf standing over a dead deer. By the sounds of the chewing and tearing, he knew he was in luck. He reached up and held his warhammer, ignoring the weight on his hands.

The wolf's ears pricked up at the sound of Hidar's footsteps. It lifted its head and turned around, growling slightly. It lowered its head and pulled its ears back, squinting at the Nord.

_Okay… Is it gonna attack or what? _Hidar thought. The wolf approached him gradually, lying on its back, its stomach exposed.

Hidar raised a brow. What in Oblivion was this? The Nord wasn't stupid; he knew this wolf could lunge at him and attack him any second. He knelt down, and gently placed his hand on the wolf's stomach.

"Hey there, fella," Hidar said in a high-pitched voice, rubbing the animal's belly. The wolf's tongue hung outside its mouth as it reached out a large paw to the Nord.

Hidar looked up at the dead deer, its intestines and meat strewn across the grass, which was painted red with blood. His stomach growled, and having venison a few feet in front of him was torture.

He got up and made his way to the decaying deer, smirking. The wolf followed him, bowing down to him and wagging its tail.

The Nord looked at the wolf, knowing it wanted to play. He sighed, and sat on the grass, digging his hands inside the deer, feeling the meat caress his hands.

The wolf barked, pawing Hidar with excitement.

"What, hey!" Hidar shrieked as the wolf jumped on him. "Stop it, I'm here to eat!"

"Fine, fine! You want food? Here," Hidar said, ripping out a chunk of fresh, bloody meat from the deer and throwing to the wolf.

The wolf devoured the meat as Hidar ate some of the meat himself, a satisfaction coming over him. The Nord smiled, glancing at the wolf, which to his surprise, didn't attack him yet.

_This is one well-trained wolf, _Hidar thought to himself. _Hope this dog ain't gonna follow me._

The wolf breathed out of its mouth, looking at the Nord as if he had raised him since it was a puppy. Hidar sighed, and thought, _looks like you got a new friend, Hidar. _However, he smiled, and threw some meat to the wolf.

* * *

"Feels weird without 'em though," Finrir said, sipping his tankard of ale.

Tiljor, who sat next to him, filled up on some hot soup. "Yeah... Why would anyone want to hurt them though?" he replied, muddled at the very thought of someone hurting their now dead friends.

"Hey, Fin… when's the funeral?" Tiljor said with hesitation.

"Tomorrow, I think," Fin spoke with a hint of melancholia in his voice. Of course, getting used to the fact that your best friends were dead was no easy task.

Til sipped his soup while Finrir took gulps of his cold ale. It felt so much emptier without their friends, so much quieter. Besides the bard playing, it was silent… too silent. The room felt dark, despite the fireplace burning, and lights hanging from the ceiling. It was cold out as always, and Til always talked about taking a vacation to Cyrodiil, a place that was warm. Windhelm was the only home they knew: the blizzards, the stone walls, and the hatred of Imperials. But a part of the two Stormcloaks was missing; a piece of them was up in Sovngarde now.

The door to the Candlehearth opened, the wind blowing inside. Hedlir entered, his eyes scanning the room for his friends.

"Hey Hed!" Fin called out; Hed walked to the table in the corner of the room.

Taking a seat next to Tiljor, Hed took off his helmet, revealing his intense red hair and deep violet eyes. The bags under his eyes had darkened over the past few days, and his skin seemed to be paler.

"Well, you look like shit!" Fin said, making Hedlir's ragged appearance more palpable.

"Ha!" Hed laughed gaudily. "Work like I do and maybe you'll end up lookin' like me!" he joked.

Finrir giggled, taking a sip of his ale. He had known Hedlir for a few years now ever since he moved from Dawnstar. Fin was told Hedlir hadn't spoken to his family just for supporting the Stormcloaks, but those were just rumors.

"So, did Ulfric beat the living daylights outta ya?" Tiljor asked, finishing the soup.

Hedlir spat out his extra bottle of mead he grabbed from Finrir. "What!? Are you kidding… I told 'em 'bout that message thing, and he asked me to leave the room."

"Ohhh, see Fin!" Tiljor said to Fin, who was smiling widely.

Fin swallowed his ale, "I don't give a damn! He's scary as a Daedra!"

Fin and Til always forgot about the stress of life when they were at the Candlehearth. Of course, Hedlir made them happy, but he alone couldn't fill a void inside of the two kinsmen. To Fin and Til, Windhelm became an empty place.


	4. Another Job Well Done

**A/N: Alright, here's chapter four. I tried my best; please excuse the ending, I'm kind of terrible at writing action scenes. But anyway, I hope you enjoy. =)**

* * *

**Chapter Four**

A few days passed, and Galmar had enough. They were so close; pushing the Empire completely out of Skyrim and killing General Tullius was in sight. Hating the Empire was in the old man's blood no doubt, but waiting like this was painful.

"Gods!" Galmar yelled in disgruntlement. He turned from the window to look at the Jarl, who was staring blankly at the map of Skyrim. All of the land had blue flags, all except the grand city of Solitude. Almost all of Skyrim was theirs… almost…

"We need to attack… now!" Galmar continued. "I don't know what you're waiting for, but Tullius and Rikke are at their weakest point! You and I can both agree on that." He walked over to the table and rested his hands on it, looking into Ulfric's eyes.

"Galmar, have you ever heard of patience?" Ulfric replied, rather simply.

"Yes," the old man said.

Ulfric stared at Galmar, almost as if he knew he was lying. 'Patience' wasn't the best word to use around a Nord like Galmar Stone-Fist.

Finally, the old man sighed, "No. It's not in my vocabulary."

Ulfric chuckled, "Galmar, we have to take the Imperials by surprise this time. Tullius knows we're in his backyard. If we can take them by surprise, they won't have time to prepare, leaving them vulnerable."

"Sounds good," Galmar lied, sounding as if he was unimpressed with the strategy. "If I get to crack an Imperial's skull, I'm happy."

"Then we understand each other," Ulfric said, glancing at the old man. "But we have to wait for the right time to-"

"Damnit!" Galmar cursed. "Let's strike, and let's strike now!" The old Nord stopped himself from ranting on. He wanted to attack Solitude, kill General Tullius, and make Ulfric king. However, in the end, it was Ulfric's decision when to strike.

"Galmar…" the Bear said, standing up straight from the table.

"I know, I know…" Galmar moaned, engulfed in bafflement. "But Ulfric, we're so close to Solitude!"

It was beginning to be clear that Galmar's attempts at persuading the Jarl weren't working.

"I swear, you are going to be the death of me," Galmar said, shaking his head as he locked his eyes on the red flag of Solitude.

"Galmar, I've already explained how we're going to handle this," the Bear said firmly.

Ulfric placed a hand under his chin, looking at the map for a moment. "Although…"

On the outside, he was trying to be patient, but on the inside, Galmar was seething. He hated this, waiting to take the final city, waiting to be on the battlefield outside Solitude's gates. Why they couldn't take the city was beyond the old man.

Suddenly, Ulfric turned around and began to walk out of the room.

"Wait… Ulfric, where are you going?" Galmar said rather fast as he noticed Ulfric exiting the room.

Ulfric turned around; something gleamed in his eyes, and it was something Galmar couldn't figure out.

"Send word to the camps," the Jarl finally replied staunchly. "We're taking Solitude tomorrow at sunrise."

When the Jarl turned back around, Galmar patted himself on the back. It was another job well done.

* * *

"What!?" Tiljor exclaimed, spitting out his mead.

"I just received word from a Stormblade that we're taking Solitude tomorrow at dusk. Now, you heard me, get your asses in motion!" the Captain said, irked at repeating what he had just said.

Finrir, who was sitting across from Tiljor, turned around to look at his best friend, eyes wide. The two looked at each other, frowns forcing their way onto their lips. Their true Nordic hearts pounded, knowing that all the months of training and fighting were coming to an end tomorrow. Skyrim will be free, and Ulfric will be king. But something was missing… if only Bilen, Terfor, and Herdgir were here to celebrate…

"You two better pack up… we got a busy day tomorrow," the Captain sighed as he made his way out of the barracks, as if he was never even there.

"What!?" Tiljor repeated, disgusted.

"Unbelievable," Fin replied, showing no emotion. "I told you the Jarl wouldn't do a damn thing!" he said spitefully, glaring at Tiljor.

"And I told you that there was also the war to think about, Finrir!" Tiljor snapped. He didn't remember the last time he called his friend 'Finrir' instead of just 'Fin'.

"Look," Tiljor said. "Maybe they're going to deal with it after we take Solitude!"

"And if they don't?" Finrir said, his voice rising until it seemed to bounce off the walls. "So they're just going to forget what happened?"

Tiljor sighed, rubbing his fingers around the edges of the tankard. As he slouched in his seat, he thought about what Fin had said. What if they did forget about it? What if they would never find the killer? What if justice is never done? So many questions ran through the soldier's mind that it was hard to keep count.

Finrir stood up, sighing irritably. He made his way to his bed, which was next to Tiljor's.

"Do we need anything for tomorrow?" he said, not turning around to look at Tiljor.

Til stood up, knowing something important that they both would want to wear for the big day. As Finrir looked over his shoulder, Til opened the top drawer of his end table. His hand searched the wood until he felt the cold metal against his skin. The rebel pulled out two necklaces.

"Torygg's ghost!" Finrir called out, his olive eyes went wide as he scanned the chains his friend held.

Tiljor laughed. "Forgot, eh? Here, brother." He handed one of the necklaces to Fin's shaky hands.

The bleach-blonde Nord stared at the necklace, holding onto the chain with disbelief. He rubbed his fingers against the smooth surface of the tooth from the sabre cat that hung delicately from the rusty chain. After all these long, bitter years, the tooth was still the same as the day the five of them killed the cat: shiny, smooth, and flawless.

"Gods, Tiljor…" the words escaped from Fin's mouth. "You still have this?"

"Of course," Til scowled. "Why wouldn't I? It brings good luck, right?"

Fin glanced at Til and smiled faintly, "Yeah. It does."

Tiljor patted Fin's shoulder. "Come on, we better join up with the rest." He smiled at his friend, and grabbed his axe that laid itself on the floor underneath his bed.

Finrir placed the chain around his neck, remembering back to when they killed the sabre cat as young men, barely out of their teens… back to when there were five of them.

* * *

Hidar whistled, "Valko! Come here, boy!"

The sturdy gray wolf ran up to his new Nord friend, wagging his tail. Valko was more of a dog than a wild wolf, and that was something that crossed Hidar's mind more than once.

"Here you go, fella," Hidar said as he tossed the flesh to the wolf, who devoured it in mere seconds.

The bitter wind made its way into the entrance of the dimly lit cave, where Hidar called home. He had called this malodorous place home for only a few months now, the longest he had ever stayed in one place. Skulls hanged by a thread from the ceiling, human flesh was thrown all over the place, and blood dried itself on the dirt and walls. Was it the cleanest place in the world? No, absolutely not.

The delirious Nord stood over his latest work: a dead Stormcloak. Who the rebel was Hidar didn't know, so he must've been a new recruit; killing a total stranger was completely normal to Hidar.

Hidar reached for the bloody knife that laid patiently on the table next to the corpse. He held the grip tightly as he stabbed the body, making Valko sniff him dubiously. The Nord carved out a small piece of the rebel's arm, feeling the soft material of the ivory skin between his fingers. He scanned the skin for a moment before he ate it.

He welcomed the coppery taste of the blood as he chewed the piece of flesh, a sly smile making its way on his lips.

_Damnit, Hidar! _his conscience spoke to him. _You only got one fucking guard? You can do better than that. _

As Hidar heard the voice in his head berate him for only killing one guard, he had the urge to hunt and kill again. No… he needed more. He needed more death, more victims.

"Valko," he said firmly.

The wolf's ears stood up, and he looked at him with alert eyes.

"Let's go, boy… We've got some killing to do," Hidar said as he pulled the hood from his black robe over his head, giving him a strange, and perhaps mysterious, look.

Valko barked, his tail wagging as they made their way to Falkreath, the closest town from the cave. The wolf sniffed the flowers as Hidar walked with a straight face. The Nord looked at no one passing by, but only focused on the road ahead of them.

The small town was in sight, and Hidar breathed a sigh of relief as he passed underneath the wooden arch. He made eye contact with no one, and Valko was causing quite the fuss as he growled slightly at the strangers passing by. Of course, Hidar received more than enough odd looks, probably because he was a stranger.

When Hidar looked up from the road, he scanned the area, looking for any potential targets. The guard standing by the Jarl's longhouse seemed good… No, too many people were nearby. Or maybe the guard standing in the front of the city? Hidar was more used to killing when it was night, not when the sun was blaring down.

The Nord's eyes caught the sight of more than a few wanted posters, and they all had a familiar face on them…

_WANTED: _

_'Hidar', also known as 'Butcher of the East'_

_Race: Nord_

_Hair color: Blonde_

_Eye color: Unknown_

_Height: Approximately 6'2" _

_Weight: 185-190_

_Wanted for murder, vandalism, burglary, and drug possession._

_Any information regarding this individual is to be brought to the Jarl immediately. 10,000 gold reward if he is caught._

Hidar smiled. Oh, how he loved it when people recognized his work. He's laid eyes on quite a few of these posters during his travels, and he certainly didn't really mind that people realized the 'beauty' of his victims…A gold reward for his capture as well, but only ten-thousand? Damn, it should've been twenty-thousand, or thirty-thousand even!

Valko barked, wanting Hidar to move from his spot. The Nord gave a look to the wolf, dragging himself back into reality. What was he here for again? Gods, he hated being in these worthless towns! Oh…that's right, he was here for a killing.

Hidar made his way inside Gray Pine Goods as it was probably easier to kill a civilian than a well-trained guard. Valko stood closely by his friend's leg as he barked vehemently.

"Ah, welcome! Is there anything I can help you with today?" the blonde Nord standing behind the counter said joyfully, happy to finally have a customer.

It was the perfect scenario, or at least in Hidar's mind. The store was empty, so there would be no witnesses…Perfect, just perfect!

Hidar said nothing as he stared at his fellow Nord underneath his hood. No smile appeared on his lips this time, but there was a dark glint in his eyes. He made his way to the other side of the counter.

The storekeeper backed away, pondering why in Oblivion a customer was walking directly to him instead of just browsing. But he had no time to wonder when Hidar struck him in the face.

"What in Oblivion!?" the storekeeper yelled as he held onto his cheek, an exasperated look appeared on his face. The sting from the slap made his eyes water slightly.

Hidar approached him, and grabbed the back of the Nord's head. He grinded his teeth as he reached for his dagger; the storekeeper moved his arms, attempting to hit Hidar.

_He has to die. He needs to die!_ the voice inside Hidar's head spoke.

The storekeeper bit Hidar's arm, making him flail in instant pain. He grabbed his arm as the storekeeper reached for a nearby broom.

"Back! Back, you worthless piece of shit!" the Nord yelled, not thinking about his words. But in a moment like this, how could even think?

Valko's senses hinted that something was wrong. The wolf sped his way to the storekeeper and growled ferociously, baring his sharp teeth.

"Shit!" the storekeeper cursed as he blocked Valko's raging bite with the broom. A hint of fear struck itself in his eyes, his heart racing.

Valko's jumped up and placed his paws on the storekeeper, pulling him to the ground. The Nord yelled, kicking his arms and legs at the beast. The wolf's teeth managed to grip itself on his arm, making the Nord scream out of agony.

Hidar gently pushed Valko away, and tightly grabbed the storekeeper's throat, who was still in shock at Valko's powerful bite.

"Who in Talos' name are you?" the Nord snapped at him, moving his head.

Hidar smiled, and before he sliced the Nord's throat, he said coldly, "Hidar Stormcloak."


	5. Missing In Action

**A/N: Hello! Here's chapter five, finally! It took me a little longer to write; sorry if this chapter kind of long. I hope you enjoy! **

* * *

**Chapter Five**

As the sunlight glared in his waking eyes, Tiljor bumped his shoulder against Finrir's, whose snoring seemed to be dragged along with the wind.

"Hey… get up," Til whispered to his half-asleep friend. He felt the warmth of Fin's body crawling on his skin.

Fin moaned, taking a long sigh before he turned around, dragging the furs along with him. The chill from the early morning air created goose bumps on Til's ivory skin. The noises from the carriage wheels bumping up and down from the road woke the two friends up more than once during the night. Wolf howls, owl hoots, and the horse's loud hooves frightened them like small children; it brought back memories from when the two of them had sleepovers and pretend that they were animals, memories that they thought they couldn't even remember.

"What in Talos…" Hedlir, who slept next to Tiljor, moaned deeply as he stretched his arms out.

Tiljor pushed Hed's arm away from his face, "I heard the driver say we reached Solitude."

"Gimme a few more hours of sleep, then we'll talk 'bout Solitude," Finrir slurred.

Til rolled his eyes, as he rose up from the furs, trying to make out some of the voices coming from outside the carriage.

"Sir, we've received the shipment of weapons Istar ordered in," a formidable Nordic accent reported.

"Perfect! Are the weapons in good condition? We can't fight with sticks and rocks," a deep and robust voice replied. Tiljor immediately recognized the voice; it was Jarl Ulfric's no doubt.

"Of course, my lord," the Nordic voice said.

"Guys…" Tiljor said, glancing at Hedlir and then Finrir.

"Yep," Fin suddenly said. "We're gonna kill, hack, slice and dice some Imperial ass today, right Tilly?"

Tiljor chuckled, "Yeah, Fin, sure."

"What about me?" Hedlir spoke, his brow rising.

"You're gonna be there too, Heddy, don't you fucking worry!" Fin replied, turning around to look Hedlir.

"Alright, kinsmen, let's get moving," Tiljor said as he pushed the furs away from his body, jumping cautiously off the carriage.

"What, hey! Tiljor, wait for your brother!" Fin called out to his friend, bolting upright to follow him.

"Guys… wait up!" Hedlir said, trailing Finrir.

The chill in the air engulfed the three Nords as they walked towards the Solitude gates, admiring the beauty and elegance of the stonework.

"Talos, that's some beauty," Hedlir muttered as his eyes scanned the gates.

"What, you never saw Solitude before Heddy?" Tiljor asked dubiously.

"Nope… why, have you?" the Nord replied, glancing at his friend.

Tiljor remained silent. He could've admitted he visited Solitude during his youth, but now that they were about to fight here, he knew it was a bit inappropriate. Underneath his hatred for the Empire and his Stormcloak occupation, he admired Solitude in some ways: the stonework, the history, perhaps even the people that influenced the city. He never really agreed with Ulfric's way of thinking, but he joined up with the rebels anyway. That was something he never admitted, even to Finrir.

Finrir sighed, "Come on, you two. We can admire the city later."

Til breathed a sigh of relief as he felt lost in the crowd, a sea of rebels all dressed in the light blue. There must've been hundreds of them; some the three men recognized from Windhelm, others were total strangers. They were all there for the same purpose, bound together by the same hatred for the Empire. But Tiljor was like a stranger, or at least he felt like it. Did he belong there? Was this the life he wanted? It was a painful feeling, but he knew with Finrir and Hedlir by his side, it was alright… It was going to be alright.

"You alright there, kinsman?" Hedlir asked Tiljor in a soft voice.

"What? Oh, yeah… Yeah, I'm fine, Hed. Don't worry," Tiljor lied, giving a faint smile.

Hedlir patted Til's shoulder, returning the smile. Tiljor had only known Hedlir for a few years, certainly not as long as he knew Fin, but he was already like a brother to him.

"Hey Tiljor," Fin called out.

Til turned around, and caught the axe that belonged to him.

"Forgot your axe on the carriage, eh?" Finrir laughed as he approached his friends.

"This is it, men!" It was Ulfric.

Til, Hed, and Fin turned their attention to the Jarl, just like every other Stormcloak there. The Jarl was standing proudly near the gates, his sword drawn.

"Prepare yourselves, Legionnaires!" a voice called out from the city walls. The rebels didn't know it, but the voice belonged to General Tullius, the man they were after.

"The rebels are here, outside our walls! Open the gates on my signal!" the General called out to his soldiers.

Ulfric continued on with his men, "It's time to make this city ours! We come to this moment carried by the sacrifices and the courage of our fellows: those who have fallen, and those still bearing the shields to our right!" his strong voice became louder, until it seemed to echo off the wind.

"On this day, our enemy will know the fullness of our determination, the true depth of our anger, and the exalted righteousness of our cause!" the Bear continued. His words struck a chord in Tiljor, but even more so in Hedlir. Finrir was just trembling in fear of the Jarl, as always.

"The gods are watching, the spirits of our ancestors are stirring! And the men under suns yet to dawn will be transformed by what we do here today! Fear neither pain, nor darkness!"

"We can't we just attack them already!?" Hedlir muttered to his kinsmen.

Finrir sighed heavily, "Maybe we're just waiting for those gates to open, brother."

"For Sovngarde awaits those who die with weapons in their hands, and courage in their hearts! We now fight our way to Castle Dour to cut the head off the Legion itself! And in that moment, the gods will look down and see Skyrim as she was meant to be. Full of Nords who are mighty, powerful, and free! Ready now! Everyone, with me!" Ulfric paused.

The rebels raised their weapons in the air, and all yelled out together, "For the sons and daughters of Skyrim!"

Ulfric yelled along with his kinsmen, "For the sons and daughters of Skyrim!"

The voices of the hundreds of rebels carried along with the wind, it seemed like a million Nordic voices in the three friends' ears; the sounds seemed to echo endlessly, just like the sea of rebels.

"Ready now! Open the gates!" Tullius called out to his soldiers, who stood ready at the entrance, ready to greet the rebels.

The gates began to open, dragging its heavy wood along the road.

"All hail the Empire! All hail its Legionnaires!" the General yelled to his men, who cheered along with him.

The rebels poured into the city, a clash of red and blue, axes against swords, the Empire against Skyrim. The sea of soldiers doubled, to perhaps a thousand of them. Blood spilled into the streets, bodies of both Stormcloaks and Legionnaires lying in the middle of the road. Despite the demand to separate and attack the Imperials head-on, the three Nords stayed together, much to the delight of Tiljor.

"Finrir! Behind you!" Hedlir called out to his friend.

Finrir turned around, and was greeted by a slice to the ribs. He stumbled, dropping his sword, shocked at the pain of the exposed cut.

The Legionnaire was about to get another blow of the blonde Nord. Tiljor's eyes went wide.

"No!" he yelled as he bolted to the Imperial, pushing him away with all his strength, his arms hurting from swinging and never-ending punching.

The Legionnaire dropped to the ground. Finrir moaned in pain, getting back up; Tiljor ran back to his kinsman, holding his arm over his back to balance him.

"I've already lost enough, I'm not losing you! Not today!" Til exclaimed above the screams, the blows of metal, and the oozing of blood.

Hedlir sped over to his friends, holding up Finrir by the other arm. "Are you alright, Fin!?"

Finrir let go gradually of his kinsmens' arms. "Yeah… I'm fine... Fuckin' Imperials!"

The three Nords fought their way through Legionnaire to Legionnaire, with Finrir falling a bit behind. The blood from his wound stained his blue fabric on his armor, an agony washing up on him. The sky changed from light purple to a baby blue, but it felt like this day was never going end, just like the fight itself.

Tiljor finished off a Legionnaire, striking him in chest with his axe.

"Just like the old days, eh brother?" Finrir smiled, kicking the Imperial in the gut.

Til smiled, "Yeah… I guess so."

It was like the old days, but something was missing. Tiljor knew what was missing, but he fought for his friends, for their love of Skyrim. In his heart, he knew he was doing the right thing, but on the outside, it felt wrong.

"Wait…" Tiljor muttered, his face showing a stab of trepidation.

Where was Hedlir?

* * *

Galmar struck an Imperial in the head with his hammer, his blood rushing through him. Blood spilled from the deep bash in the Legionnaire's head as he landed on the ground.

"Ulfric!" the old man called out.

The Jarl stabbed an archer in the gut, the young Imperial screeched out in pain. With a push of his finger, the Bear made the archer fall to the ground, holding onto his wound.

"Galmar! Castle Dour, now!" Ulfric commanded, and, by his lord's request, Galmar ran through the courtyard with the Jarl.

"Sir… It's over…" Rikke said slowly, letting the reality of the situation sink into her heart.

The General sat quietly on the bench, looking down at the ground. She was right; they lost. Skyrim was gone; no longer part of the Empire he worked so hard for. All those sleepless nights, grueling hours of planning, and arguments over Ulfric's disillusioned vision for the land were worthless now. His dark chocolate eyes watered slightly…It was over. The war was over.

"Secure the door," Ulfric said.

"Already done," Galmar replied, locking the door.

"Ulfric…" Rikke said, a hint of surprise in her voice. "Stop!"

"Stop what? Taking Skyrim back from those who'd leave her to rot?" the Bear replied, annoyed.

"You're wrong, Ulfric!" Rikke pleaded. Persuading Ulfric Stormcloak to see he was wrong? Not a chance!

"We need the Empire," the Legate continued, her eyes tearing up. Her voice straining, "Without it Skyrim will assuredly fall to the Dominion."

Galmar rolled his eyes, "You were there with us, Rikke! You saw it." He glanced at the General, who said or did nothing but look down at the floor. "The day the Empire signed that damn treaty was the day the Empire died!"

Ulfric nodded curtly, "The Empire is weak, obsolete. Look at how far we've come with so little, Rikke." His voice echoed throughout the room. The air was heavy, and every sound, every voice seemed magnified.

"When we're done rooting out Imperial influence here at home, then we will take our war to the Aldmeri Dominion," Ulfric declared, a dark emotion flooding his eyes.

"You!" Rikke snapped, pointing her finger at the Jarl. "You are nothing but a damn fool, Ulfric! And you know it!"

As a tear dripped down Rikke's cheek, Galmar said, "Stand aside, woman! We've come for the General, and the General only."

The Legate's throat burned, "He has given up, but I have not."

Only then did the General look up at Rikke.

Ulfric sighed, "Rikke, please. You're free to go."

"I'm also free to stay and fight for what I believe in!" Rikke yelled.

"And you're also free to die for it," Ulfric muttered darkly.

"Is this what you want!?" Rikke snapped. "Shield brothers and sisters killing each other? Families torn apart? This is the Skyrim you fucking want!?"

"Damnit, woman! Stand aside!" Galmar moaned, frustrated.

"That's not the Skyrim I want to live in," the Legate said, rather calmly. Her heart pounded inside her chest.

"Rikke," Ulfric said. "You don't have to do this!"

"You have left me… no choice!" Rikke said, animosity building up inside her. She wasn't leaving Nirn without a fight.

"Talos preserve us all," she said.

Rikke unsheathed her sword, and bolted towards Ulfric.

The Jarl blocked the hit as Galmar swung his axe, almost hitting his old friend in the leg. The Dragonborn swung his sword, striking Rikke in the side.

"Damn you!" she called out, blood oozing from the fresh wound.

Tullius unsheathed his sword, the light reflecting off the metal. No emotion showed on his face as he approached Galmar. The old Nord swung his axe at the General, who blocked it. The Imperial's muscles strained as he pushed away the large hammer, taking deep breaths.

The old man swung his axe, only for it to be blocked by Tullius. The strength of the hammer was too enduring for the short Imperial as he lost his balance, almost falling.

One thing led to another, and Galmar yelled as he struck his hammer in the General's back, hitting him in the spine.

The General fell to the ground, stunned; his legs became numb… He couldn't feel his legs… _He couldn't feel his legs!_

Galmar chuckled as the Dragonborn stabbed Rikke in the neck, her eyes widening. Blood spilled as she collapsed, visiting Sovngarde for eternity.

Breathing became hard as Tullius crawled to the bench, his legs useless. Ulfric kicked his sword away, sheathing his own.

"This is it for you, Tullius," Ulfric said as Tullius moaned in pain. "Any last words before I send you to Oblivion?"

The General grabbed the edge of the bench, his heart pounding. He looked up at the three men standing above him, who stared down at him like they were hunters who just conquered a deer.

"You realize this is exactly what they wanted…" he managed to say. Obviously, trying to speak when you've just been paralyzed isn't the easiest thing to do.

Galmar's brow came together, holding his axe in his hand. "What who wanted?"

Tullius grunted as he attempted to lift himself from the ground, his arm shaking wildly. "The Thalmor," he spat. "They stirred up trouble here… Forced us to divert needed resources and throw away good soldiers quelling this rebellion."

"It's a little more than a rebellion, don't you think?" the Jarl said, a bitter tone in his voice as he crossed his arms.

The General smirked, "We aren't the bad guys, you know."

"Maybe not, but you certainly aren't the good guys…" Ulfric replied tacitly.

"Perhaps you're right, but what does that make you?" Tullius muttered as he cast a dark look at Ulfric.

"You just said it yourself!" the Bear laughed.

"It makes us right," Galmar snapped, holding his axe in a threatening position.

The defeated General rose himself up, struggling, breathing hard. His legs dragged themselves up, no movement coming from them.

He didn't look at his enemies as he said, his voice strained, "And if I surrender?"

"The Empire I remember," Ulfric snapped, "never surrendered!"

"_That _Empire is dead!" Galmar said before glaring at the paralyzed General, "and so are you."

Tullius said nothing, but looked down once again. His eyes watered, he failed… he failed his duty, he failed his men, and he failed the Emperor… he failed the Empire.

"So be it," he whispered to himself.

"Just kill the bastard and let's be done with it already," Galmar said, looking at Ulfric.

"Come, Galmar! Where's your sense of the dramatic moment?" the Jarl replied, walking towards the battered General.

"I don't give a shit who kills me, just do it already!" Tullius growled, trying to get used to the fact that he was useless from the waist down, and that he was about to die.

Galmar glanced sharply at the General, "Tullius! I had no idea you were able to swear!"

Ulfric chuckled; Tullius gave them an ominous glare. Making fun of him while he was engulfed in pain? That was a low blow right there.

The old Nord rolled his eyes, "By the gods!" he protested. "If it's a good ending to a damn story you're after, perhaps the Dragonborn should be the one to do it."

Ulfric turned his attention to the Dragonborn, who, underneath his iron helmet, said proudly, "I'll gladly kill the General."

The Dragonborn walked over to Tullius, and unsheathed his sword. The General looked slowly at the Nord, whose eyes had a hint of apologetic emotion to them. At least the Dragonborn of legend was able to strike him down, and some bastard like Ulfric.

As the metal of the axe firmly placed itself on his throat, Tullius had no choice but to think of his wife and daughter… What was the last thing he said to his beautiful wife, his daughter even? Was it "I love you"? No… no, it wasn't that… He couldn't remember…

"Wait…" Tullius said, grabbing hold of the axe at his throat. He heard Galmar sigh irritably.

"What is it?" the Dragonborn said in a bitter tone.

"Tell…" the General took a deep breath. "Tell my daughter… that I love her…"

The Dragonborn's fierce gaze softened. Sympathy washed through him… This man had a family waiting back home, just like all the other soldiers in the fight…

The Nord spoke softly, "I will… I'm sorry, Tullius."

A tear escaped his eye as the axe sliced his throat, a stinging sensation crawling on him. He took gulps of air as he collapsed on the floor, his heart taking one last beat. Blood dripped from his throat as his eyes became cold, lifeless… His thoughts raced, but he couldn't do anything…

General Tullius was dead.

The Dragonborn closed his eyes, and said a small prayer to the Divines. Was he able to keep the promise he made to a now dead man? He didn't know…

"It's done," Galmar said, breaking the silence.

Ulfric approached the Dragonborn, placing his hand on his shoulder, "Dragonborn, I want you to have my sword."

The Jarl unsheathed his sword and held it out for the Nord to grab it. The Dragonborn stared at the steel metal, the silver Nordic steel shone in the late morning sunlight from the Castle lights.

The Nord gradually grabbed the hilt of the Jarl's sword, the heavy metal weighing his hands down.

Ulfric cleared his throat, "Now then. The men will expect a speech… Will you stand by my side? I wish to honor you, Dragonborn."

The Nord looked down at the decaying body of General Tullius, the lifeless eyes striking him.

He didn't look at the Bear when he spoke, "Of course, my lord."

Ulfric bowed his head, "Well, Galmar. Some sort of speech is in order, then?"

"I suppose so, I'll go gather the men at the courtyard," the old man replied, a satisfaction beaming within him.

"And Elisif?"

"Don't worry. I sent our best men to round her up."

* * *

The two scanned the area around them, but there was nothing except dead Legionnaires and rotting Stormcloaks. Several of their brother Nords were still fighting, their arms and legs aching. His heart had pounded; not being able to find a man who he had called a brother shook him inside.

"Tiljor, we might as well give up, we can't find him anywhere!" Finrir said, becoming increasingly frustrated at the unsuccessful attempts at finding Hedlir.

"We're not giving up, Finrir!" Tiljor snapped, glaring at his friend. How dare he even thought of giving up!

"Talos' sake, Tiljor!" Fin called out. "It's been at least an hour! He must've ran off!"

Til couldn't believe it. Finrir was actually trying to persuade him to stop looking for Hedlir… What in Oblivion was this!? Fin couldn't be serious.

"Fin, stop it," Til said, sounding like a parent with a bad child.

"Listen Tiljor, I'm not trying to be an ass, but we can't find him!"

"We will find him, Finrir," Tiljor said strongly.

"That's not what you said at that day on the docks!"

Sweet Talos. Finrir didn't just say that.

Til glared at his friend as he narrowed his eyes. When he narrowed his eyes, it meant trouble.

"Don't you even go there, Finrir!" the brunette snapped. "You and I know that the Jarl is going to find that damn killer!"

Fin scowled, "You always said that! And nothing's been done, Tiljor! Nothing!"

Til's face burned with fury; was this really happening? Was Finrir really going after him for their deaths?

* * *

"And now, I present to you, Ulfric Stormcloak, hero of the people, liberator and High King of Skyrim!" Galmar called out to the large crowd of rebels.

The crowd cheered, raising their axes as their High King walked out of the Castle, the floor was his.

"I am indeed Ulfric Stormcloak," the Bear began, his voice strong, proud at his men. "And at my side, is the man we know as Stormblade, and the world knows as Dragonborn!"

The Dragonborn stood a few feet away from the Jarl, his face turning red from the attention.

"And indeed, there are many of us who call us heroes, but it is all of you who are the true heroes! It is you who fought a dying Empire who sunk its claws into our land, trying to drag us down with it! It was you who fought the Thalmor and their puppets who would have us deny our gods and our heritage. It was you who fought your kin who didn't understand our cause, who weren't willing to pay the price of our freedom!" Ulfric called out, his soldiers cheering loudly as the city burned around them.

"But more than that, it was you who fought for Skyrim, for our right to fight our own battles... to return to our glory and traditions, to determine our own future!"

The ocean of rebels cheered, their axes raised.

"And it is for these reasons that I cannot accept the mantle of "High King." Not until the Moot declares that title should adorn my shoulders will I accept it," the Jarl said, his voice dying down.

"Sir," a soldier called out. "What about Jarl Elisif?"

"Yes, what about the Lady Elisif? Will she put aside her personal hatred for me, and her misplaced love for the Emperor and his coin, so that the suffering of our people will end?" Ulfric questioned. "Will she acknowledge that it is we Nord's who will determine Skyrim's future? Will she swear fealty to me, so all may know that we are at peace, and a new day has dawned?"

"I do!" a young voice yelled from the crowd. It was Lady Elisif, who, despite the stress and worry of her Jarl duties and the war, looked rather beautiful.

"Then it is settled," the Jarl replied, almost relieved. "The Jarl will continue to rule Solitude; I will garrison armies here to ward off Imperial attempts to reclaim the city. And in due time, the Moot will meet, and settle the claim to High King once and for all. There is much to do, and I need every able bodied man and woman committed to rebuilding Skyrim. A great darkness is growing, and soon we will be called to fight it, on these shores or abroad. The Aldmeri Dominion may have defeated the Empire, but it has not defeated Skyrim!"

As Ulfric voiced rose, the aching, sweaty, and bloody soldiers cheered wildly. They won. The Stormcloaks won. Solitude was theirs, and Ulfric would finally be king.


	6. Failed Friendship

**Chapter Six**

"Why in Oblivion are you blaming me!?" Tiljor yelled, his blood boiling. He was getting mixed messages from his friend: he was angry at him, but also trying to comfort him. Why was this, Til didn't know.

"I'm not blaming you, Til… but for fuck's sake, it's been a week now and nothing has been done!" Fin replied, his acrimony not lighting up the situation.

"Ulfric is doing something about it, he's-"

"How do you know that, Tiljor!?"

Til was struck by silence. He wanted to slap Finrir silly, but something was holding him back. Why were they arguing about this though? Shouldn't they be comforting each other? It was confusing to Tiljor, who loved Fin like a brother, but this? No, this wasn't right. Something was wrong here, but Tiljor didn't know what was it. Finrir was his brother by heart, damnit!

Fin sighed, pushing his white-blond hair away from his eyes. He approached his friend, and placed his hand on his shoulder, "Til…"

The brunette pushed his friend's hand away violently. He wanted nothing to do with him. Ever since Hedlir disappeared during the battle at Solitude, he felt like Fin was a stranger. Something was happening to them and Tiljor wasn't about to tolerate it.

"What, hey!" Fin said as umbrage made its way to Til's face. "There's no reason to act like that!"

"I wanted to look for Hedlir!" Tiljor shouted, letting his mixed emotions out on his kinsman. "Oh but no, someone wanted to give up, right!?"

Fin scowled, "Oh, so this is what this is about!? It's about Hedlir now isn't it? Not our friends who, let me remind you, got butchered in the middle of the night!?"

Anger built up inside of Tiljor. What was this about? Was it about Hedlir or their dead friends? It was about their friends who were resting in Sovngarde now, but... now, Til wasn't sure.

"I'm not the one who called their own mother a bitch and didn't show up when she could've died!" Til blurted out. What was he doing!?

Fin, who was insulted beyond measure, yelled, "How dare you! I should've known! You're nothing but a fucked-up son of a bitch!"

Til threw his hand in the air and said, "Ah, shut up!"

"Yeah! Just go, idiot!" Finrir called out as Tiljor made his way into one of the bathrooms the barracks had.

"Talos!" Fin yelled as he threw his axe at the wall. Explosive temper? Yeah, definitely.

Til slammed the door behind him, feeling his heart being stabbed. How did it come to this? Finrir was his brother, his best friend, his shoulder to cry on. A tear escaped his icy blue eye as he thought about what he said. Talking to Fin about his mother was impossible without him getting upset. Tiljor knew about the rocky relationship Finrir had with his mother, and there was no doubt Finrir was going to be mad at him for it.

The brunette sighed, and opened the faucet to the bath. He took off his clothes, and entered the bathtub, a warmness washing over him.

As he laid naked in the hot water, he thought about Hedlir. Gods, where in Oblivion was he!? It's been three days since they took Solitude, and no trace of the redhead. Hed was his kinsman, his brother… He was nothing like Finrir, that's for damn sure. He was calm, and didn't blame him for Bilen, Herdgir, and Terfor's deaths. Somehow, Til liked Hed _better _than Finrir… but how was that even possible?

But then he thought about why Fin acting like this: picking fights all of a sudden? Wait... maybe he was jealous at Hedlir? Til did spend a bit more time with Hed nowadays, but he would never forget about his kinsman like that. It seemed funny, Fin never got upset like that before... Maybe he was jealous, who knew.

As the short, brunette Nord closed his eyes, he knew something was up with Finrir… The Nord Til had called his brother for the full twenty-six years of his life was slipping through his fingertips, and he wasn't even upset over it. He wasn't going to be disturbed by it... maybe it was time to let Finrir go.

* * *

Hidar laid on the grass, his hands behind his head. He smirked as he eyed Valko, who ran to him and licked his face.

"Gah!" the Nord smiled, feeling the wolf's hot breath on his pale skin. "Hey, boy! Yes, I see you! I see you!"

Valko barked, backing off. He laid his stomach on the grass, the sun beaming down on the two new freinds. Hidar pondered why Valko was still following him, maybe the wolf really liked him. The Nord patted the wolf' strong head, feeling the bones underneath the thick fur. He smiled, squinting at the sunlight.

Hidar closed his eyes, his mind wandering. He wondered what his father was doing right about now. Was the war still going on? Damn, the war is probably over after all these years. Still, his father was probably delighting himself over a big feast, lounging on his throne. Hidar wouldn't admit that he missed his father, but he couldn't hide the fact that he did.

"Hey, Valko," Hidar said to his wolf, who looked at the Nord almost immediately. "I never told you about my father, right?"

The gray wolf laid his head on his crossed paws, his ears twitching at the sound of Hidar's voice.

"Well," Hidar began, not even noticing he was speaking to an animal. "My father was a great man. He was brave, strong... I wanted to be like him when I was younger, you know."

Valko's amber eyes closed as Hidar spoke to him about his father.

"I wanted to be the best son to him, but..." the Nord paused. "I was just another burden on him."

Hidar didn't shed a tear when he thought about all the insults he threw at his old man. What did he call him anyway? 'Stupid', or 'bastard'? Something like that. He was right though, he wasn't the best son ever... but he tried.

The Nord and Valko both lied in the sun, feeling a soft chill in the Last Seed air. Hidar knew his father was in Windhelm somewhere, and the Nord made it clear he wasn't going to be forgotten easily.


	7. Heated and Hostile

**A/N: Here's chapter seven. It focuses more** **on Tiljor, Finrir, and Hedlir. Hidar and Ulfric will appear again in the next chapter, I promise! Feel free to review, I love to hear what others think of this story. Enjoy! =)**

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

As the guards swarmed the barracks to start a new day of patrolling Windhelm, Tiljor sat alone at one of the tables. He rubbed his fingers along the rim of his tankard, the cold mead sitting in it. The Nord made short eye contact with some of his pals, but he didn't dare shoot even the slightest glance at Finrir. It felt so strange, usually Til and Fin were laughing, poking fun at the other guards. But not today, and more than one of the guards noticed the distance between the two.

Til sat alone, sighing. He knew how this day was going to go: patrol the Gray Quarter, take a break, and then patrol the Stone Quarter in the afternoon. He focused his attention on the chilly mead in his tankard, resisting the urge to look up for fear of locking eyes with Finrir. All he wanted was to know where Hedlir was… It was haunting him. Was he dead? Was he injured and waiting for aid? Gods, it was too much. He had already decided what was going to happen between him and Fin, but he couldn't lose Hedlir… Not Hedlir…

He sipped the mead, the coolness of the minty drink traveling down his throat. It was only three quarters full but he decided to drink it down with a few gulps afterwards. He licked his lips, gathering any droplets that were left behind, and smacked them together.

He shoved his chair behind him, and made his way to his bed. Pushing his chocolate brown hair behind his ear, he grabbed hold of his precious steel axe from underneath the fur-covered bed. The Nord placed it in its sheath, shoving it irritably into the leather. He gave into the urge to look over at Finrir's bed, which was right beside his. He looked at Fin for merely a moment, watching him as he put on his soft, furry boots. Til watched him, making sure to get a good look at his friend before the day was over. Finrir's olive eyes caught onto Til's blue irises, and immediately out of fear, the brunette looked down.

Fin glared at Tiljor, eyeing him for a few seconds until he finally got up from his bed and made his way to the other side of the barracks.

Tiljor breathed a sigh of relief, feeling his heart slow down. He never thought that even looking at his kinsman could become such a struggle.

_Alright, _he thought acerbically, _if I look at that asshole one more time, I'm going to fucking scream._

He placed aside his bitter feelings as he placed a firm hold on his helmet, noting the deep dent of the scar that shone in the morning light. He rubbed his thumb against the scar, remembering the fierceness of the sabre cat. Did Bilen kill the cat? Or was it Terfor? He couldn't even remember. It was a long time ago-eight years now to be exact. Gods, it was really that long? He couldn't really believe it; it seemed like only yesterday that Herdgir got scarred in his face with those long, sharp claws.

A guard entered the barracks, grabbing attention from the other Stormcloaks. His armor was scabbed with dirt, caked blood staining the blue fabric. The guard's arms and legs ached with pain, but he was finally here… finally at home. He just wanted to crash on his bed, and gulp down a cold ale. But there was something he had to do first.

The guard scanned the crowded barracks, glancing at the guards who were eating sweetrolls, the guards who were clashing tankards with their friends, and the guards who were playing with the leather straps on their armor. It was as if nobody had noticed he was even gone, which bothered him slightly but he buried the feelings when he saw his friend and brother-in-arms.

"Hey!" the guard called out as soon as he saw a familiar brunette, "Tiljor!"

Til's name reached his ears out from the crowd, and, instinctively, he turned around with a puzzled look. He saw the filthy guard speedily approach him, noticing how overwrought his fellow Stormcloak appeared to be.

The guard went into the process of removing his helmet, his burnt orange hair all matted and tangled up. Til became fascinated with the guard's deep violet eyes that had a tinge of blue in them; light freckles covered his small nose, along with chiseled cheekbones and a strong jawline.

Til mouthed the words, 'Holy shit!' He was too stunned to say anything, a satisfaction coming over him. His heart pounded only once when he looked at him. It wasn't real… No, no, it was a dream… He was alive…

It was Hedlir.

Tiljor rubbed his hands in his hair, letting a wide smile creep its way onto his lips. He jumped up and down, clapping his hands together, not even giving a damn whether the other guards were sending him sour looks, which they were. Til was always the odd one out of the rest of the guards; he may not have admitted it, but it was certainly true.

He ran to Hed, shoving him into a one-armed hug. Til could've sworn he had dreamt about giving Hedlir the biggest hug, and perhaps the biggest bottle of mead as well.

Hedlir laughed, "How are things going, brother?"

"I-I'm fine," Til lied, feeling a lump in his throat. He knew Hedlir was bound to realize the distance between him and Finrir.

"I'm sorry it took me so long," Hedlir began, rubbing the back of his head uncomfortably.

_Why is he apologizing? _Tiljor thought, muddled at his friend being apologetic.

"Please Hed," he said, reassuring his kinsman. "I'm just glad you're alive!"

Hedlir gave out a deep, yet fulfilling, laugh, "I almost died at Solitude." He paused for a moment, noting the sudden look of worry on Til's face. "But I got out a bit behind of everyone else," he added, perhaps to soften the blow.

A sigh escaped from Til, "I'm glad you're here, brother."

"It's good to be here… Ha, wish I came sooner though!"

A beautiful smile passed over the redhead's face. He looked so dirty, so tired, and so… awful. But Hedlir always had a smile on, and looked on the bright side of things. Tiljor didn't know how he did it; he stayed happy even in the worst of times. It wasn't really like Finrir, Til noted… but that's what he liked about Hedlir.

"Oh hey," the redhead said, grabbing Til's attention. "You want to head to the Candlehearth later? You know, catch up?"

'Catch up'? It's been only three days! Tiljor felt as if he hadn't seen his kinsman for years, something he immediately loathed inside.

"Of course!" he said simply, giving a smile to his friend. It was like a dream, three - almost four - days of waiting for Hedlir to return. Three days of being haunted by the offending question, 'Is Hedlir dead?' This was what he was waiting for, this was the moment he would remember for a long time… mainly because he had to wait a very long time for his brother.

Finrir watched the two reunite from the other side of the barracks, standing alone. He took a sip of his hot soup, not taking an eye off of Tiljor and Hedlir. Feeling the sizzling sensation on his tongue, he thought about going over there and saying 'hi' to Hed, but it felt inappropriate… especially what happened between him and Til yesterday. The awkwardness would be too overwhelming, and it was too soon to mend things between them… After all, Tiljor did bring up his mother, which was completely unnecessary!

"Alright, we should head to work then, eh?" Heddy said, a light beaming in his dark blue eyes.

Til's brow rose, a part of him troubled that Hedlir didn't think about lying in bed to relax. "Don't you want to stay here?"

Hedlir noticed the tense in Til's voice. "I might," he teased.

The brunette smiled, a jab of joy coming to him. He didn't notice the looks they got from the guards, nor did he notice Finrir's emotionless glare.

"Alright, brother," Til said, turning around to look at his end table over his shoulder. "I think I might get to work. Candlehearth later?"

"You betcha," Hedlir assured. He smiled as he walked to his bed, gathering his axe and armor from the top of the bed. Tiljor felt a smile crawl on his lips as he watched Hed crash on his bed.

The Nord turned around, rubbing his fingers along the thin chain of his necklace. He closed his eyes for a moment, remembering his friends. Yet, despite all they've been through, one thing had haunted him.

_"Oh, so this is what this is about!? It's about Hedlir now isn't it? Not our friends who, let me remind you, got butchered in the middle of the night!?"_

It was still teasing him. The words that came from Finrir were stabbing him, over and over again every time he thought of it. His heart felt strange, it all felt strange yet he felt powerless when it came to Finrir. Tiljor was brave enough to be best friends with Fin; he had to put up with all the insults, venting, doubt, fear of going crazy and just plain rudeness.

Tiljor sighed, and looked down at the sabre cat tooth hanging from his necklace. All five of them got one, a symbol of friendship, a symbol that their bond would never end… but now, Til knew what was going to happen, and what he was going to do. Their friends were dead, and Til had decided a while ago that he didn't need some necklace to show his loyalty… but it still felt wrong somehow…

With all his strength, he ripped off the necklace, a slight redness appearing on the back of his neck. A depraved smile washed onto his face, he knew it was over. The chain dangled from his hand, broken in two. He bumped elbows with his fellow guards, throwing the necklace in the trash before he exited the barracks, his heart pounding. He shook off the thought of Finrir, making his way to the Gray Quarter.

Finrir's face burned with both shock and enmity. His blood rushed through him; the _thump_ the necklace had made his heart stop. Tiljor didn't just do that… He couldn't just throw away something that he and Fin cherished so much!

_Why would Tiljor do something like that!? _Fin thought bitterly. _Oh, looks like the idiot carrot-top has got my Tilly wrapped around his finger…_

Finrir slammed his soup bowl on the counter, his irritably scale rising from zero to ten. The slamming of the bowl made the other guards jump with surprise, but then they laughed it off, which didn't help raise Finrir's spirits at this moment. Pique burned like a flame within him; how _dare_ Tiljor throw away that necklace!

_Tiljor's not getting away with this… Fucking scumbag, Hedlir's not taking Til away from me!_

The blonde Nord gave a sour look to the redhead before clenching the hilt of his steel sword. He snatched his helmet from the counter and placed it on his head, becoming just another guardsman in the city of Windhelm. He was seething inside; his blood on fire.

And so a new war was brought to light.

* * *

The cold ale sat submissively in his bottle as he rubbed his fingers against the chilly metal, water droplets stinging his skin. Til embraced the warmth of the hall, glancing from person to person. The sounds of mead slashing, tankards clashing together, the music of the bard, and the sounds of heavy voices echoed all around him. The two sat in their usual corner, away from the crowd but the sounds around them only intensified. It was distracting, but Tiljor needed all the distractions in the world today.

As the bard began to sing 'The Dragonborn Comes' amongst the rowdy crowd, Hedlir swallowed down his strong ale and asked, "So Tilly, what did I miss?"

The brunette turned his gaze from a group of old Nords hitting their tankards as they laughed, "Not much really… It's been the same."

Hedlir shot a look of amazement, "Wait, so… Nothing happened at all? _Nothing?_"

Tiljor glanced down at his bottle; keeping a secret away from Hedlir was onerous. He looked up at Hed, the dim lighting revealing his beautiful, deep purple-blue eyes. Til always found a source of comfort in those eyes, a feeling he knew he could trust… It was nice not to feel so alone, so shunned. The cloud of forsakenness shadowed him, ever since this morning. If Finrir found out… he was dead for sure. No questions asked.

"Hey, is Finny comin'?" asked Hed, gulping down his half-empty tankard. He slouched in his seat, glancing at the fire in the middle of the room. His hand ached from holding the tankard for so long, his knuckles resting in one position for at least an hour.

Tiljor's heart stopped.

That was the last thing he wanted to hear, especially from Hedlir. What was he supposed to say, to think, how to act even? He knew he had to say something, but he couldn't lie and say, 'Oh, he's coming.' He couldn't say that because he _wasn't _going to be here… ever.

"It's over, Hed," Til confessed, feeling his hands quiver, his heart pounding.

Hedlir looked at his kinsman, rather perplexed. What in Oblivion did 'It's over' mean? Obviously, something must've happened for Tiljor to say that.

"Oh, so you two had a relationship when I wasn't looking?" the redhead joked, sipping his mead quietly.

Tiljor shot a look at Hed, narrowing his eyes, which had a sudden flame to them. He felt his blood racing; if word got around that Til was finished with him, Finrir would have his head. The light from the flickering fire and the chandelier seemed to grow darker as a silence embraced the two friends. The sounds of the teeming hall died down around them as if the entire world was waiting for Tiljor to explain what he meant.

"It's not something I would joke about," Tilly chastised. "What I mean is… me and him aren't friends no more." The words seemed to fly right out of his mouth, not thinking twice about letting Hedlir know what was really happening.

The fiery redhead's brow came together. He sipped the cold tankard, not taking his eyes off of his brother. Him and Fin were so close, he was doubting whether this 'break' Tiljor was taking would actually last.

"Oh… what went wrong?" he asked dubiously.

Tiljor sighed, placing his ale on the table in front of them. He crossed his arms in an attempt to disguise his uncontrollable hands. A vessel in his brain burned just thinking about it.

_"How dare you! I should've known! You're nothing but a fucked-up son of a bitch!"_

Finrir's voice hit his head like a ball. Was this really happening? All those old memories came back to him gradually… Like the time Tiljor took an arrow in the knee, who was there beside him? Finrir. Or perhaps the time Til got sick with the flu, who was there to give him a hug and a hot bowl of soup anyway? Finrir. Even the time that he lost his pet cat, who was there to help him find his pet? Finrir.

It was hard, and he knew it.

"We… had a fight," Til finally said. He and Fin had millions of fights over the years, but something was different about this one… something felt wrong, strange even.

"But it wasn't just any fight, Hedlir," the brunette added, trying to find words to explain what happened. "It's just… something's wrong with Finrir. I don't know what it is, and I don't care either."

Hed gulped his mead, listening to Tiljor's voice above the noisy crowd. Til could feel the bemusement in Hedlir's gorgeous eyes.

"Look," Til said, "I don't know what's going on, but I'm not friends with Finrir no more."

"Wow…" Hed said, it wasn't the answer Tiljor was preparing for.

"Listen to me Hedlir," Tiljor said strongly, snatching the redhead's attention. "If Finrir finds out about this, I'm a dead man."

"Aye, aye, captain," Hedlir responded. "I won't tell him."

"Thanks, Hedlir," Tiljor said in a low voice, more to himself than his friend.

He felt a stab of hurt hit him. He couldn't take back those words, but… he knew by letting go of Finrir, he was letting go of Bilen, Herdgir, and Terfor. No… the group wasn't complete without Fin… but what group was there? Three of them were dead, killed, murdered… there was no damn group anymore! It was over, done!

_No… _Tiljor thought, closing his eyes for a mere moment. _It's done… it has to be done!_

Til knew in that moment that something was wrong with his best-_ex-_best friend. He had to do something, something that could make Finrir less… crazy, perhaps? Damn, it wasn't his fault Finrir was mad at him. Tiljor didn't kill nobody... but Pup did. Pup killed his three kinsmen, his brothers. Gods, the necklace...

Tiljor heard a voice inside his head, his angry side pulling its strings, _If anyone is going to kill Pup, it's going to be you._

It was done.


	8. New King, New Secrets

**A/N: Hi! Here's chapter eight. I tried my best; I hope you like it. Enjoy! =)**

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

Ulfric sat comfortably in his throne, which made him look fierce and powerful. He closed his eyes for a mere moment, knowing that his father was looking down upon him with content eyes. The light that shined in the room reflected in his eyes, a gleam of happiness, satisfaction. He laid his hand on the stone, a cool chill hitting him. The fur on his clothes blew softly from the gentle breeze, the metal shining under the chandelier. He was already a majestic man, but now, he looked impeccable, unbreakable.

The families of all of the Jarls of Skyrim gathered, dressed in extravagant robes and clothes. Jarl Vignar Gray-Mane was there with his clan, clinging to the guests, as well as Jarl Thongvor Silver-Blood, who was there with his family. The crowd of both nobility and civilians wandered around the room, chatting with their friends, meeting the Jarls, enjoying themselves with the free appetizers, and glancing at Jarl Ulfric, who simply looked at the crowd before him.

A voice hit the crowd like a knife in bread, "May I have your attention please!"

The crowd turned their attention to Galmar, who stood proudly next to the throne. He glanced at Ulfric, who sat emotionless. The old man looked onto the crowd, not being able to count all the people who were trying to catch a glimpse of the Jarl that they knew had lead a winning rebellion.

The Nord continued, "Friends, brothers, and kinsmen, we are gathered here today to announce a new age of Skyrim! A new generation of Nords, and we are gathered here today, under the gods, in the capital of the First Empire of the Nords, to announce a new High King!"

The crowd cheered and clapped with wine glasses in their hands, their true Nordic hearts beaming with excitement. They looked at Galmar, and then Ulfric, who peered down at them as if he was sitting on the edge of Sovngarde.

In the clamor of the crowd, Galmar continued, "The Moot is decided! And with us is the jewel of kings, the crown of legend! The Jagged Crown!"

Nice speech, old man.

Jorleif held the Jagged Crown in his hands carefully, a murmur surfing through the crowd. Some of the people in the back stretched their necks just to catch a glance of the spiky crown. A hint of surprise appeared in their eyes; "How did they get that?" most of them asked. Of course, getting the crown King Borgas wore from years ago was bound to spark amazement from the common Nords.

A glorious Ulfric rose from his throne, his tall and broad appearance giving away his pride. He stepped down the stone steps, feeling his heart racing. His blood was filled with confidence; this is what he had worked so hard for, what he cried for, what he had fought for. He gave a faint smile at Galmar and Jorleif, who approached him with shaky hands, not ever expecting to hold the very Jagged Crown.

Galmar placed his hand on Ulfric's shoulder, and said quietly, "I'm proud of you."

The Jarl - High King - gave the old man a smile, his face lighting up, which hasn't happened in… a few months? Four years perhaps? No matter, it was too long… It had been too long since anyone had seen Ulfric's face light up with joy and pride. Galmar knew he was happy, he could see it in the Bear's eyes.

Jorleif smiled underneath his beard, and placed the Crown on Ulfric's head. It fitted perfectly, almost as if it was created just for the Bear.

"And now I present to you, Ulfric Stormcloak, the High King of Skyrim!" Galmar called out to the crowd.

The crowd cheered, their chanting of the King's name rising like a storm brewing. Lady Elisif stood, a somber look in her eyes, clapping. Her skin became pale with fury, her heart pounding. She was dressed in a beautiful cotton gown dyed red and gold, her hair straight and brushed, a braid dangling in her eyes. Remembering her Torygg in his coronation clouded her mind; she had no desire to even glance at Ulfric, who stood back up on his throne, the crown giving him a savage look, more of a warrior than a king… but it suited him rather well.

"Everyone," Ulfric said, his voice booming throughout the room. "This is an honor, to be here before you all. To my men, to those who have given their lives for this land, I cannot be more proud. We Nords will never back down and the Empire can be sure of that!"

The crowd clapped; his Stormcloaks raising their tankards of mead for their new King. It was done, the war was over and finally Ulfric was the High King.

"And so," Ulfric continued, his voice dying down, "I can only hope all of you are as proud as I am in this moment… Thank you."

The bundle of Nords and warriors cheered as the Bear fell back down onto his throne. He smiled as he watched his fellow Nords clash tankards, sing and dance, win arm-wrestles, and eat until they exploded. Galmar joined the crowd, downing a bottle of mead. It was merely a time of celebration, welcoming a new age to Skyrim, the land all of them loved with all their hearts. Being the High King was unreal, a dream perhaps… or it at least it felt like it. Galmar had convinced him that he would be the king, and obviously he had been right. He was the High King now, but he was still the Jarl, he was still the same old Ulfric, and nothing will change that… nothing at all.

A dark figure stood silently in the crowd. Dressed in black robes, her cold eyes were shadowed underneath her hood. She watched the Jarl, standing in the corner. The Dark Elf blinked three times before her heart pounded, grabbing hold of her crossbow. One of her blood red eyes closed as she pointed the crossbow at her target. With one push of her finger, the dart whipped through the air. This was her moment.

The dart barely hit Ulfric's crown. The _thump_ of the dart made Ulfric stand up and turn around, seeing the murder dart sticking out of his throne.

"Galmar!" Ulfric called out.

The crowd seemed to notice the King's alarmed state, as they had begun to scream and push themselves out of the way. The assassin ran, placing a shaky hand on the Nords, who had dismay in their eyes and body motion. Her heart raced, her blood rushing through her. She knew this was a high-profile kill from the moment Astrid told her the name, but no one else was willing to take the job. Besides, a two-thousand gold reward was seductive…

"Get her!" Ulfric yelled, and, by his command, the guards swarmed on top of her. Before she knew it, before she had time to shoot her crossbow, she had been stabbed in the back by a guard. She felt the steel pierce her skin, her heart slowing down. Her breathing became shallow, hard, and difficult. All eyes were on her, the air seemed to close in on her.

Blood oozed from her body as she collapsed on the floor, the crowd shivering, whispers passing through them. Galmar shoved a woman aside, glancing at the body before him, and searched it, tugging his hand into the pockets of the assassin, until his hand felt a smooth surface against his fingers.

He grabbed hold of a parchment, and said aloud as he read the black ink, "Ulfric… I think you need to see this…"

He made his way through the troubled crowd and approached the King, who stood on the throne with an angered face. He handed the parchment to Ulfric, who snatched it with impatient fingers. His brow came together when he read it.

_As instructed, you are to eliminate Ulfric Stormcloak at his coronation Fredas, scheduled at 12:30, the 3__rd__ of First Seed. Hidar has already paid us for this contract; failure is not an option._

_Signed,  
Astrid_

No…

Ulfric's mouth formed the words, 'No', but he couldn't say anything. No… It wasn't… Hidar was his little boy, he couldn't have… It wasn't him! No, it couldn't possibly be_ his_ Hidar. He couldn't believe it, he wouldn't; Hidar would never do something like this! But… if he didn't do it, why would his name be on the parchment? The boy he raised, fed, loved with everything he had… No, it couldn't be!

The new King collapsed on his throne, and broke down.

* * *

Finrir focused deeply on the body of the assassin as his fellow guards carried away the corpse and cleaned up the blood. The crowd glared at the two guards who carried the body, and the Stormcloaks who were attempting to scrub the blood off the rug and floor. The voices resumed, the crowd went back to the food and meeting the Jarls, although not in exactly in the same light. It was obvious like a white crayon on a black paper that everyone was a bit shaken up.

Fin sipped his mead haltingly, glancing every now and then at Tiljor, who slouched next to the 'carrot-top' Hedlir. He felt his blood boil as he saw Til smiling and laughing at Hed's jokes about their work, Ulfric, and their fellow guardsmen. The brunette seemed so happy, so peaceful… but with Hedlir? The redhead was an idiot; he wasn't even that good of a warrior!

As Tiljor rose from the long dining table, Finny gathered up his courage, took a deep breath, and approached his old friend. His steps towards his friend seemed to send earthquakes throughout the room as he elbowed his way through the crowd, his eyes set on the brunette.

Til was only a few feet away, yet it felt like miles. The smile the Nord had immediately faded when he saw that Fin was behind him, glaring at him like a lion ready to attack.

The brunette's eyes went wide, his brow rising. This was one of those stupid moments where Tiljor didn't know what to say or think. It was as if he lost all knowledge on how to speak, how to think, or how to move.

"Finrir?" Til finally said, wishing he had some sort of portent to Fin's appearance in front of him.

"Tiljor," Fin snapped, whispering fiercely to his kinsman. He wasted no time in getting to his point, "Why in Oblivion are you with _him?_"

"With who?" Til whispered back, rather puzzled. Why was Fin even speaking to him…?

"Hedlir," Finrir said, his eyes flickering with a flame.

Tiljor looked over his shoulder to look at the redhead, who was laughing deeply with the other Nords. He looked back at his brother, whose olive eyes iced his blood. His ivory skin paled, he scrunched his nose several times, his nostrils flaring. Til knew Fin well enough to know he was upset.

"I'm with him because he's my friend," Til said, his voice shaking. If Finrir made a scene here, in front of everyone…

Resentment passed over Fin's face, his skin turning pale. "_I'm _your friend, Tiljor!" he said, his voice rising.

Til's heart raced as he placed his hands on his kinsman's shoulder, "Finrir, calm down. What's the matter with you!?"

"That fucking redhead is the matter," Finrir said darkly.

The room seemed to die down, the voices around them quieting. Tiljor couldn't wrap his finger around it. Hedlir was innocent, what in Oblivion did he do!?

"Listen to me Finrir," Tiljor hissed. "I don't care what you may think, but this is my friend and you aren't going to ruin it!"

The words hit Finrir, almost to his heart but he wasn't sure. He felt his hands shake with mixed emotions… He couldn't lose Tiljor; he _wasn't _going to lose Tiljor… The way he smiled, the way he laughed, the way he spoke… It was so graceful, so… pretty, even. Hedlir wasn't getting in the middle of him and Til. Poor redhead didn't even know what was going on, but he was in the middle of something that Tiljor didn't want him to get involved in. But it was probably already too late to exclude Hed from this… 'battle', perhaps?

"What about the necklace, Tiljor?" Finrir demanded, his hands turning into fists. His knuckles turned white as his nails dug into his palm.

Shit.

"Look, Bilen, Terfor, and Herdgir aren't here anymore!" Til replied, their names sounding forbidden on his tongue.

"It doesn't matter!" Finrir growled. "Damnit, Tiljor… You are my kinsman, my brother! Oh, so you like this idiot more than me!? After everything we've been through!?"

Til sighed, "Fin, keep your voice down… First of all, I'm not your kinsman anymore… Maybe I was when we were younger, but now you're just crazy! I can't… I can't stand you! What in Oblivion is wrong, because Hedlir didn't do a damn thing!"

_How could he say something like that!? _Finrir thought. The room seemed to get hotter, the air seemed thinner, and the space between them seemed to grow. They've known each other for their whole lives, Til couldn't just end it! Tiljor was the crazy one, not him. He was merely trying to rekindle things; he couldn't live with the tension, the distance… but obviously Til wasn't appreciative towards his efforts.

Tiljor rolled his eyes, turning back around to return to Hedlir. He heard Finrir say frantically, "No, wait! Tiljor!"

The brunette muttered under his breath, "Go away."

Realizing Tiljor wasn't stopping his tracks, Fin grabbed a firm hold on his shoulder, making Tiljor turn back around with annoyance. Finrir had to let it off his chest, he had to tell him... It had been so long. He kept it from Tiljor for years now, ever since they were both sixteen and Tiljor was running through his head... Tiljor needed better than some stupid redhead! No, he had to tell him; he couldn't keep it a secret, especially now that he was on the brink of losing Til.

Fin moved in close to him, and whispered delicately in his kinsman's ear, "I love you, Tiljor."


	9. First Time, Last Time

**A/N: I had to re-write this chapter, so it's not exactly the way it was before. I hope you like it all the same though. Enjoy. =)**

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

"You think you could get away!?" the bandit whispered fiercely in his ear.

Hidar felt his teeth grind against each other as he dug his nails into the bandit's arm that strained his neck, yelling out into the night sky rancorously, kicking his feet into the dirt. The wind bustled against the tall pine trees around them; the bunnies hopped off, the foxes trailed away, frightened by the piercing shouts that came from Hidar. Nobody stayed to help him, nobody except Valko.

The gray wolf growled furiously at the bandit; his senses telling him that something was wrong with his master. His snout was scrunched up as his sharp teeth snapped and tore the bandit's armor, his teeth clenching onto the fur. Saliva escaped from the wolf's mouth as he tore off another piece of the outlaw's armor, exposing his thigh slightly.

"Damnit!" the bandit cursed. "Stupid dog!"

Hidar released himself from the bandit's loosened grasp around his neck, feeling the strain in his muscles. He bolted for his axe that shone in the tainted grass from the moonlight, snatching it from the soil. He listened to Valko's shrieks and the outlaw's sword whipping the air around them as he turned around, staring at the bandit with audacious eyes. He held his weapon with wavering hands, and, with a fierce battle cry, ran towards his enemy.

The outlaw turned his attention to Hidar, who struck him in the gut, blood seeping through his armor. He cried out in sudden pain, the chill in the air burning his new, fresh, wound. He stumbled away from Hidar, who swung his axe over and over again with all his strength.

An ear-piercing bay came from Valko as he leaped up on the bandit, dragging him down to the soil. The bandit shrieked in surprise, grabbing the wolf's chest fur in an attempt to throw the beast off of him. A mix of saliva and blood dripped on the bandit's face, the heat from the wolf's breath and the snapping of his teeth reaching his face. The shrieks and calls that came from the bandit made Hidar recall what the outlaws did him.

The Nord swung his axe into the bandit's neck, piercing the flesh as blood splattered everywhere. Valko rolled off of the decaying body, sniffing the air. Collapsing on the ground next to the bandit, Hidar couldn't shake the memory of how the bandits kissed him, beat him, touched him…

His eyes burned uncontrollably as he covered his face with his hands, remembering how he screamed out of his cell, longing for his father's warm hug. All those countless nights without sleep for fear of waking up with a knife to his throat, all those countless days of being forced to give in to the bandits' demands. Yet one thing he found comfort in… recalling his father's tepid smile, Galmar's ridiculous belly laugh, and how he helped Sifnar make delicious sweetrolls… It was all too much, too fast. All the unnecessary pain and anguish over nothing, over being a captive to cold hands.

Looking up to moonlight that peeked through the trees, he said angrily to himself, "Why does it have to be so fucking difficult?"

Glancing over to the bandit's dead body, staring into the cold eyes, he mumbled, "Fuck you, you sick bastard."

Before drifting off into a well-deserved sleep, Hidar thought to himself, _Why am I even alive?_

* * *

_He can't love me, _Tiljor thought as he washed his hands, caressing them underneath the warm water. _No, he can't love me that way..._

His thoughts trailed off as he reached for the towel on ther racket, drying his hands as he glanced himself in the mirror. Giving in to the urge to look at himself, he peered himself in the mirror, taking note of the light bags underneath his icy eyes, accepting the fact he hadn't slept well in the past few days. He rubbed his hands through his hair, sighing at himself.

_Gods, he can't love me, look at me! _his conscience said, castigating his very appearance. No, Tiljor wasn't the most handsome fellow in Windhelm, but there had to be something Finrir liked...

"Boo," a voice said behind him.

Til gasped as he spun around, staring into a pair of olive eyes that were covered by light, thin bangs of platinum blonde hair... It was the last person he wanted to see.

"Finrir..." he squeaked, his brow coming together. "What are you doing here?"

Fin walked over to his kinsman, and coddled the back of Til's neck. But that wasn't the only thing that threw the brunette off; Finrir was shirtless, _completely _shirtless. Tiljor couldn't deny Fin _had _a nice chest, but... in a place like the bathroom, it was more than a little uncomfortable.

"I love you Tiljor," Finrir said gently as he kissed Til's neck. "So much..."

"Fin, get off me," Til peeped, feeling the cool, moist wipe of Fin's tongue against his ear.

"How about no?"

"How about yes?"

The blonde chuckled, feeling the pumping of Til's heart upon his lips and the taste of his skin. He waited too long for this, to be able to love Tiljor and take care of him was a dream of his for years now. He longed to kiss Til wildly, tear off his clothes and press his body against his own. Now, he could finally have those crazy fantasies come to reality.

"Please be with me," Fin whispered softly in Til's ear before returning to kissing his neck.

_Ok, Til, keep calm... _Tiljor thought to himself as he felt Fin's hot lips on his skin. _Just play along, there's nothing wrong with this picture..._

_Just play along..._

Tiljor slammed Finrir against the wall, and kissed him deeply, passionately. Fin couldn't resist, sliding his tongue into Til's mouth, making him groan with delight. The heat between them was perhaps equivalent to a million suns as the air around them become warmer, heated until it was almost oppressive. Til didn't think, nor did he think he cared about what he doing. His lips gathered the droplets of sweat on Fin's neck as the blonde flung his head back, giving in to Til's delicious kisses. He moaned deeply, wrapping his arms around Tiljor.

"Oh, Tiljor..." Fin grunted gaudily as Til dug his nails deep in his back, creating fresh red marks.

_Holy shit, what are you doing!? _Tiljor's conscience stopped him, releasing him from Fin's death-grip around him.

"No, no... Tiljor!" the blonde said, his body longing for more and his conscience screaming at Til to continue. He held onto his kinsman's shoulder, begging him to stay and kiss him even more.

"Finrir, I'm sorry... I just... I'm not into guys," Tiljor replied, rather apologetic. He stared into Fin's olive eyes, sensing disappointment in them.

"But... I love you!" Fin begged, burying his face into Til's arm. "Please stay."

"I-I can't, I don't love you like that," the brunette said quietly, placing Fin's hair behind his ear.

As Tiljor began to rise up from his grasp, Fin stopped him, his grip on his shoulder tightening, "No, wait. You're not going back to Hedlir."

"What?" Til began, his brow coming together as he stared at the blonde. "Of course I'm going to back to Hed. He's my friend."

"But what about you and me, my love?" Fin said, planting a kiss on Til's bicep.

_What did he just say? _Tiljor thought, matched by a discombobulated look.

'You and me'? What in Oblivion...? By the gods, if Fin thought they were in a relationship...

Tiljor placed a shaking hand on Finrir's head, taking in what had just happened. He pushed Fin's grasp on his arm away from him, and, rubbing the back of his hand on his forehead, leaving the sultry room. Fin was left sitting on the floor, sweat pouring down his face, his hair wet. He felt his heart pound with excitement, recalling every detail of how Tiljor kissed him. No... Tiljor was his, and his alone; _his _love, and _his _soulmate.

* * *

The High King sat somberly in the chair, his head in his hand. His skin was pale, sickly even, and he was lightheaded. It was a few days after the coronation, he should've been up and running, but no, he was a mess. The words of the letter burned in his mind, teasing him as he stared out the window. Galmar was getting tired of this himself; he spent the past three days trying to convince Ulfric that his little boy didn't want him dead, but it didn't seem like his attempts were working.

"He wants me dead, Galmar," Ulfric finally said with no emotion in his voice, something the old man didn't hear in a long while.

"Ulfric, he can't possibl-"

"I want our guards on the lookout for him," the King cut him off. "I want our guards to search every nook and cranny in this land!"

"Are you sure?" Galmar immediately realized how stupid the question sounded, and regreted even asking him.

"Of course I'm sure. It's my duty as a father to look for my child, isn't it?" Ulfric snapped.

A soft knock came on the door.

"Come in," the old man called out, and Sifnar came in with a hot bowl of soup.

"Oh, I'm sorry if I was interrupting anything," he said, the steam from the bowl flying in his face. "Here's that bowl of soup you wanted."

"'Bout time," Galmar joked as Sifnar made his way to the sick King, who grabbed it gently, placing his hands on the towel underneath it.

"Be careful, it's hot," the cook warned, and, when Ulfric was prepared with the soup, he left the room and skipped back to his kitchen.

Ulfric blew the soup gently, playing with the pieces of meat that flew carelessly in the liquid. As the steam died down slightly, Galmar grabbed the piece of parchment he found on the assassin on the table, reading the letter with disbelief. Hidar couldn't possibly want his father _dead, _and the fact that the boy he played games with when he was a child was able to send an assassin after his own father chilled his blood. He couldn't imagine why Hidar would want Ulfric dead...

"Galmar, I want to look for him," Ulfric said as he sipped his soup.

The old man sighed, placing the parchment on the table. "Alright, fine. I'll send our men out to look for him," he said dully.

The King looked at Galmar with empty eyes, as if a piece of him was missing. In a sense, a piece of him was missing, and it was out there in Skyrim somewhere.


	10. No Love for the Wicked

**A/N: Well, this chapter is more of a bridge to the next one. It's not completely important to the story, but you can read it anyway. I hope you like it. Enjoy. :)**

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

"I don't think that will be the best idea," Tiljor said underneath his helmet. The flickers from the torch warmed him slightly, yet the bitter chill from the coming blizzard was still in his face.

"Yeah... maybe you're right. My mother always hated Ulfric since the war started," Hedlir replied, looking at his kinsman. "Besides, I don't think she'd reply anyway."

"Wait... your parents support the Empire?" Til said, marveling at the thought of Hed's parents being Imperials.

"I thought I told you. My mother threw in the lot with the Imperials..." the redhead spoke, hugging himself. "Talking about mothers and fathers, did you see that fight yesterday?"

Tiljor immediately remembered that heated argument that spilled into the streets. He had never seen Finrir so convulsed; his face was a pale red, his hands turned into fists, and his eyes were possessed with hate. Everyone in town probably heard the yells and insults that Fin and his mother were throwing at each other. Til had never been fearful because of Fin, but that day, he could've sworn he saw a Daedra laughing in those olive eyes. It almost made the brunette thankful he never had fights with his mother like that.

"Talos, I did," Til finally said, rather weakly.

As the two battled the blinding snow, Hedlir asked curiously, "Why does Fin hate his mother so much anyway?"

"It's stupid," Til spat. "His father left, and Fin always blamed his old woman for him leaving."

"Oh!" Hed said. "So that's why he hates her guts, eh?"

Tiljor felt his hands shake slightly from the white lie he told Hedlir. He remembered the never-ending story Fin told him late one night about how his father left because of him, and that his mother didn't approve of him. It was heartbreaking, knowing Fin was rejected by his own blood. Til was starting to dislike the blonde himself, but it still made his heart wrench knowing that his former friend wasn't being liked by anyone these days.

"This cold is unbearable!" Hedlir complained as Tiljor noticed the goose bumps on his friend's arm.

"Aye," the brunette said. "I swear, we're going to die out here sooner or later."

Til stopped in his tracks, "See that cute lil' house up there?"

Hedlir followed Tiljor's pointed finger to the house that followed after another in front of them. The house was made of stone, like all the other buildings in Windhelm. Light smoke came from the chimney, lights flickered inside, and ancient drapes covered the windows. A two bedroom house, it must've been so warm inside... Cooked food, a blazing fire... It did warm the two, but it still didn't make the bloody snow perish.

"What about it?" Hedlir asked, moving closer to the torch Til held.

"That's Finrir's house," Tiljor said, a smirk appearing underneath his helmet.

"He has a house?"

"Of course he does. You thought he was homeless?"

"No, I just thought he lived in the barracks."

Til shook his head, his smirk turning into a smile. Fin had lived there since he was merely a baby, so that house held a lot of bad and good memories. As Finny got older, the only thing his parents changed in his room was moving a bed and desk in there. The old light was still there after all these years, the scraped wooden walls were still there. Everything was the same, except perhaps Finrir and his family.

"Can we visit?" Hed joked.

"What, you mean pull a prank?" Til replied, taking his eyes off the window of Finrir's bedroom on the second floor.

"Yeah," Hedlir said, bumping Til's shoulder. "Come on, it'll be fun!"

Tiljor hesitated for a moment, feeling like he was teenager again. Well... it wouldn't hurt, now would it?

"Alright, alright, fine!" the brunette said, finally caving in. "Let's go."

The two men walked up to the wooden, snowy door. Til cleared his throat, Hedlir cracking his knuckles... This was going to be good!

"Knock on the door..." Hed whispered.

"No, you do it."

Hedlir moaned, knocking on the door with a shaky hand. A few moments passed, the cold dying down for a few minutes. A female voice came from inside, a voice Tiljor immediately recognized as Fin's mother.

The door creaked open, and an aging, yet pretty, platinum blonde woman looked at the two guards, fear striking inside of her.

"Yes?" she squeaked.

"Excuse me, ma'am, are you Neola?" Tiljor said, mimicking the Captain's deep, strong Nordic accent. "Is Finrir Fire-Heart home?"

Her mouth opened wearily, "Y-Yes, I'm Neola... He's home... Is something wrong?"

Hedlir and Tiljor were smiling widely underneath their helmets. Hed spoke, "Yes. We need to take your son into custody."

"What!?" Fin's mother yelled, covering her mouth with her hand. Her topaz eyes widened with panic, her heart was pounding. Her son... her precious boy would never do anything; he would never hurt anyone!

"If you don't mind, we need Finrir to come with us," Hedlir said, speaking in a much stronger Nordic voice.

Finrir's mother knew she couldn't resist the demand of the guards; she pushed her white-blonde hair behind her ear, turning around to the staircase.

"Finrir! Finrir, get down here!" she called.

Almost immediately, a door creaked and slammed closed. Finrir came down the stairs, sending a sour look to his mother. He looked at his fellow guardsmen, a hint of tumult in his eyes. What his kinsmen were doing here on his day off was rather peculiar...

"What do you want, Neola?" he said, annoyed by her basic presence.

"Finrir, we need to take you into custody," Tiljor said.

A confused look appeared on Fin's face, "What are you talking about? I didn't do anything."

"We know what you've done, now come with us!" Til demanded sharply.

Fin looked at his mother, who stood speechless. His mother placed a hand on her son's shoulder, who nastily backed away from her grasp.

The blonde sneered, walking outside. He wrapped his fur wrapping tightly around himself, battling the cold. Tiljor and Hed tried their best to contain their laughter, wide smiles creeping onto their faces.

"I didn't do anything," Fin protested. "Damnit, I'm a guard just like you! Have been for six years!"

Hed chuckled, pressing his chin against his chest. Receiving a discernible look from the apparently guilty blonde, the redhead looked up at the nearly crying mother, "I'm sorry, ma'am."

Neola looked down, shutting the door in front of her, leaving her boy to his fate.

Til and Hed burst out laughing, holding onto their stomachs. The look on Fin and his mama's face was damn hilarious, the fear in their eyes was... perhaps satisfying. The fact that Fin was naïve enough to even believe them reminded Til of how he used to pull pranks on his kinsman when they were younger. It was nostalgic.

"Fin, Fin... It's us!" Hedlir said, returning back to his normal voice. He took the process of removing his helmet, shaking his intense red hair.

As the snow patted itself on Hed's hair, Finrir was rather enraged, "You bastard!"

Fin hit Hed's shoulder, a chagrin look appearing on his face. Finrir _hated _this, and Tiljor knew it all too well.

Til removed his helmet, holding it his hand. The torch gave his face an alarming look, lighting up his blue eyes that stung like pure ice. His nose was a pale red from the cold, his hands numb. If he never bowed down to his fellow Nords, he would be at home right about now. He'd be roasting in front of his fire with his sisters, enjoying some cooked venison his mama always made.

"That was awful, both of you!" Fin spat, his voice straining.

Tiljor looked away from Fin, "It was his idea."

"So, you just decided to follow along with it, love?" Finrir asked, looking at Til.

The three men stood silent. Hedlir looked at Til, who stared at Fin with wide eyes. Tiljor felt his face get hot.

* * *

As the chill in the Falkreath air froze their bones, they trailed on. The wind blew in the tall pine trees, the birds chirping. They searched this part of the woods for days now, and not a trace of the bastard! It was getting annoying, unbearable. The men wanted to go back to Windhelm, get back to their usual routines. But by order of the King, they had to stay out here. They had to look in every damn cave, behind every bush, behind every tree. It was... ridiculous.

"Damnit, men," Istar called out. "You know, we're supposed to be in Windhelm, not looking for rogue blood."

"Is Hidar going to jump out and scare us, sir?" a soldier asked, his hand aching from holding his shield.

"He's violent that's for damn sure," Istar replied, looking on ahead to the forest around them. "If he killed those guards without warning, we better have our asses ready."

A shiver seemed to pass from soldier to soldier. Hidar was just a myth nowadays back in Windhelm; a tale of a crazed and unstable Nord who attacked anyone on sight, a tale of a criminal who committed every crime in the book. The guards were hesistant no doubt as they remembered some mothers telling their children back in the city, 'You better behave or Hidar will get you!' It scared the kids, but it scared the guards even more now that he could jump out on them at any time.

"Sir, are you sure he's out here?" another guard asked.

"He better be, otherwise we're just wasting our damn time," the Stormblade sneered, turning around to look at his men.

An arrow whipped through the air.

"By the gods!" a soldier yelled, his armor being ripped from the steel material of the arrow.

"It's him! He's here! Save yourselves!"

"Shit, men! Keep it together!" Istar ordered.

The forest around them was silent. As the guards huddled together with their weapons drawn, every sound suddenly became magnified. The wind blew harder, the bushes moved more often, the birds seemed louder. Their hearts pounded, their veins rushed with blood.

Another arrow was sent, this time hitting one of the guards in the knee.

"Mother of-Help me!" the guard yelled in pain, grabbing onto his bloodied knee.

Another soldier rushed in to help as the others stood, watching the forest, double-taking at every bush that moved. It was torture, this was nothing but a mind game.

"It's him! It's him!" a soldier cried, pointing his finger at Hidar, who appeared just feet away from them.

"Stop being a sissy and do something!" Istar yelled as the enemy Nord bolted towards him, swinging his axe.

"Get him!" someone said as the guards jumped on top of Hidar, where Istar blocked his hit to the face.

Hidar felt his teeth grind against each other as he threw a guard away from him, running towards the Stormblade like a savage linebacker.

Istar palmed the Nord in the face, digging his nails into the flesh. Hidar cried out, feeling his eye burn as he swung his axe again, shredding the cloth of the armor.

"Get a rock! Take him out!" a guard called out to his kinsman, who stood paralyzed away from the action.

The soldier snatched a heavy rock, thick and rough to the touch, weighing down his hands. He ran awkwardly to Hidar, who attempted to push, shove, punch, and kick Istar anywhere he could... yet all his efforts, blocked.

The guard swung the rock with all his strength at Hidar's head, who felt a bolt of shock running through him as he collapsed, stunned at the sudden pain. Immediately, he went unconscious.

The guardsmen stayed, frozen. They all took deep breaths, thanking the gods they were alive and not carved up and eaten for lunch.

"What happens now?" a soldier asked.

"Now," Istar began, rubbing the dirt on his pants, "we take this bastard back to Windhelm."


	11. Forsaken

**A/N: Apologies for the late update; I've been having writer's block on this story recently. Anyway, here's the eleventh chapter. I hope you like it. Any reviews are appreciated as always.**

**This chapter focuses more on Hidar and Ulfric. Tiljor, Finrir, and Hedlir will make an appearance in the next chapter.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

He woke up in a cell.

It was a small cell, claustrophobic, cramped. There was no room for him to stand up, stretch out his arms and legs. The walls were cold and unforgiving, and the floor was merely a mixture of dirt and sand. Hidar felt a sudden jab of pain as he bumped his head against the ceiling, hitting the bloody scar on the back of his skull. He heard himself groan irritably as he struggled to sit correctly in the little torture box he was placed in. Having no memory was bad enough, but having no room to stretch out was even worse.

"You won't believe who's awake," Hidar heard a strong Nordic voice say in the distance.

"Wait, you mean... _him?" _another voice replied, rather anxiously.

"I sure do. Ulfric's asked us to collect him."

_Ulfric._

Hidar felt his heart skip a beat. He wasn't going to see Ulfric, he _couldn't _see him. The Nord could feel the air get thinner as the footsteps became mumbled, feeling as if someone set a torch on his blood. He felt his muscles ache, his hands shaking. If anything, he wasn't ready for this.

The guards approached Hidar's cell in the back of the barracks, noting the bags under his eyes, how dirty he looked even.

"Talos... That's him?" the guard peering into the cell whispered.

"That's him alright," the Captain said. "Don't worry, his hands are bound so there won't be any trouble."

Hidar sneered nastily at his fellow Nords as the Captain opened up the cell door with a remarkably steady hand. The other guard simply watched, too fearful to enter the cell with his commander. As the Captain grabbed Hidar by the shoulder with a bitter hand, the other guard hesitantly held him by the other, tiptoeing to simply reach it. Hidar was smart enough to know there was no escaping this, so he fought the urge to run off. It was humiliating.

Stares were sent as the two guards ushered Hidar out of the barracks, stares amongst murmurs. The prisoner marched on with empty eyes, an emotionless stare. By now, he knew he was in home... or at least what was his home. Gods, what was his father going to say? To think, even? It was torture just thinking of it, and spending merely a few minutes in that damned cell didn't improve things either.

When the Captain opened the barracks door to the Throne Room, that's when Hidar started to collapse gradually, with no one but himself noticing. The memories came back to him; the way he sat on his father's lap on the throne, when he helped Sifnar prepare dinner, how he played games with Galmar in that very room. He felt his heart sink, broken into two solid pieces. It was too much, it was all too fast; he couldn't stand this. He wanted to run out of Windhelm if it wasn't for all the guards around everywhere.

"What are you going to do about it?" Hidar immediately recognized the gruff voice as Galmar's.

_I think I'm going to be sick, _he thought as they made their way to the war room.

A long, deep sigh came from another voice, "I don't know, Galmar..."

Hidar knew that voice: rough, deep yet soft and gentle at the same time. It was his father's, there was no doubt about that. The fact that the only separating them was a wall was frightening; Hidar could feel his hands shake like an earthquake within the binds. His heart pounded, his blood raced. This was it...

The Nord felt time stop when the Captain opened the door to the war room.

"Sir..." the guard said, alerting both Galmar and Ulfric.

The old man turned around, and immediately, his eyes went wide, "By the gods... Captain, is that-"

"Yes, sir. It's him."

The King turned around from the window, his face softening and his eyes widening when he saw Hidar. His little boy looked so much older, so much stronger as a man would be. His unkempt and dirty appearance alarmed Ulfric, who scanned his son for a good five minutes. Hidar's hair looked rough, oily, matted with dirt and gods know what else; the deep, three scars across his face matched the bruises and old scabs on his exposed arms. Bags darkened Hidar's eyes, revealing that he probably didn't sleep in days, or weeks even. Hidar even had a light beard, mirroring how much of a man he had become over these four years. But underneath the frightening scars and the dirty look, Ulfric realized how much Hidar looked like him, a spitting image of him perhaps... but this wasn't the Hidar Ulfric remembered.

After a few moments of painful silence, Ulfric walked over to Hidar, who gave into the urge to look his father in the eye, which was even more difficult. When his father approached him, merely inches away from his face, Hidar felt his heart stop. Ulfric looked more... tired. Light bags rested themselves underneath his eyes, the harsh weather of Windhelm creating fine lines of wrinkles on his face, no thinner than a spider's web. Ulfric was only two inches taller than Hidar, yet he felt like his father was a giant.

Hidar stumbled when Ulfric slapped him across the face.

"Do you have any idea what you've done!?" his father roared, his voice booming throughout the room.

Feeling his eyes burn uncontrollably, Hidar mumbled under his breath, "I'm sorry, Father."

"Say that to the families you've hurt," Ulfric spat cruelly.

Galmar spoke, letting his sympathy for the boy he cared so much about kick in, "Ulfric-"

"Galmar, stay out of this. This is between me and my son," the King ordered.

The old man quieted when Ulfric turned his icy gaze upon a weeping Hidar, "Guards. Prepare for the trial."

The guards pushed Hidar into an empty seat in the Throne Room, tying his hands around the chair. As the room filled gradually with rumors circulating about Skyrim's most wanted criminal being in the Palace, Hidar sent a silent prayer to Talos.

Almost immediately, a large crowd had gathered in the room. Hidar had the urge to run up and bash their faces in as they booed and threw insults at him. How could his father abandon him like this!? No, humiliate him in front of all of Windhelm!? It infuriated him as he sat in the chair next to the mighty throne, his heart racing.

Things like, "Criminal scum!", "Rot in Oblivion!", and "Die already!" came loudly to Hidar's ears as he eyed his father, who made his way to his throne. The Nord glared at him with enraged eyes, feeling his blood on fire.

"Execute the bastard!" one person said from within the crowd, and it didn't calm Hidar's urge to kill them all either.

"Everyone please! Calm down!" Galmar demanded, motioning his hands to quiet them.

Murmurs waved through the crowd as the old man began, "Hidar Stormcloak, you are guilty of murder, vandalism, burglary, and the attempted assassination of High King Ulfric Stormcloak. What say you in your defense?"

Hidar's eyes went wide with panic, "What!? Attempted assassination - I didn't try to kill-"

He stumbled with his words. He never attempted to kill his father, he wouldn't dare; Ulfric was the last person he would try to hurt. Hidar knew he had to be framed... no, a setup perhaps. He would never do something like that to his father!

Galmar locked eyes with Ulfric, who sat majestically in his throne, "Ulfric... This is your son. I believe his fate should be in your hands."

Hidar looked away when his father's fiery eyes and icy glare looked upon him. He didn't dare look his father in the eye, not the slightest eye contact he wanted to make. The heat and tension in the room was overwhelming him, controlling his mind and anxiety levels even.

The silence coming from Ulfric was killing Hidar, stabbing him in the heart. What he could say, what he could decide was teasing him. This had to be a method of torture, a mind game as Hidar squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, taking in the insults that came from the crowd. Humiliated and caught for all of Windhelm to see, Hidar covered his face with his thick hair, a tear escaping from his eyes as he closed them.

_This is a dream. This has to be a dream!_

Despite all his attempts at denying reality, this was all very real. No one could save him now, no one could help him, no one could help him escape. There was no way, it was unrealistic; Hidar cursed himself for even thinking of escaping from here. He felt helpless, empty, abandoned. As he sobbed relentlessly in the chair, it was perfectly clear Hidar had collapsed into nothing but skin and bone.

The verdict that came from Ulfric left Hidar speechless.


	12. Savior for a Night

**Chapter Twelve**

"Execution."

The word stung Hidar's heart, stabbing him. The air around him got thinner, the crowd's cheers becoming mumbled as if there was a wall between him and the rest of Windhelm. He looked up to his father with puppy eyes, feeling them burn uncontrollably. As his father looked down upon him, Hidar felt a sudden bolt of embarrassment, humiliation even. He felt his hands shake - now it could've been more of a nervous habit. Despite the shock from this rather quandary situation, there was no reason to believe Hidar was the innocent one in all this... but he still couldn't believe it.

Hidar felt Galmar's widened eyes on him, scanning him carefully. Perhaps no words could describe the tension in the room, the distance between him and Ulfric. He just wanted to cry helplessly at his father's feet, pleading for him to change his mind. But it was useless, especially now. The decision Ulfric made was echoing in Hidar's mind, over and over again.

As tears filled his eyes, sobbing relentlessly, Hidar pressed his back onto the chair. Ulfric stared down upon him, emotionless, almost lifeless, yet his heart was aching as he saw his little boy, his pride and joy, weeping in the chair. He didn't want this, it didn't have to be like this. This all could have been avoided, obviously... but to execute Hidar like that? Inside, it was killing the King as he watched emotionlessly as his son accepted his fate.

* * *

The verdict came dimly to Tiljor's ears as he stood amongst the crowd next to Hedlir. Listening to the sudden cheers and happiness of the people around him washed the decision even more. Til tiptoed to catch a glance of the Jarl's son, watching Ulfric sit like a statue on his throne, his gaze filled with steel, his eyes squinted, and his mouth drawn into an impermeable line. He wasn't proud, nor happy, that was for damn sure.

"Damn," he heard Hedlir say, his hair covering his beautiful eyes. "Tilly, he's going to execute him!"

"Wait... his own son?" Tiljor replied, sending a confounded look to his friend. It was rather unbelievable to think that Ulfric would resort to execute his own child like that. It didn't seem very... Ulfric-y.

"Yeah, some crazy shit, eh?" Hed joked, a grin forming on his lips. "I think his son tried to kill him or something like that."

"Really? Well... people did say Hidar was crazy though," Til said, his brow rising. He looked towards the throne, feeling engulfed by the people around him. "Wait... Hedlir, is that... is that Pup?"

The redhead looked at his friend for a moment, who hesitantly eyed him. He merely shrugged, "Don't know. I know the Jarl does, you could try to ask him."

Tiljor felt a tug on his arm, instinctively turning around to see who it was. He felt a sudden rush of blood when he laid eyes on Finrir, who stood behind him with a pink hint in his cheeks, a smile on his lips. He had this... strange emotion to his eyes, a glint of vivacity in them. Til felt a gloomy aura come over him, immediately remembering what had happened between them that day in the bathroom. He felt his face get hot; gods, if he was blushing in front of Fin... Let's just say Fin might take it the wrong way.

"I was looking for you, love," Fin whispered softly, planting a kiss on Til's cheek, making him feel even more uncomfortable in the crowded area.

Til brushed Finrir away, attempting to be rid of the grip he had on his arm. He didn't want to make a scene here in public. "Finrir, please... Not here."

Hedlir glanced at the two, widening his eyes for a moment, trying to turn his attention onto the throne.

Finrir chuckled, thinking Tiljor blushing at his very touch was adorable. He muttered in his ear, "Are you shy, my love?"

"I'm not your love. Stop calling me that," Til ordered quietly.

The blonde placed a hand on Til's shoulder, not letting go of his arm. He pushed Til's chocolate hair behind his ear fondly, ignoring his love's comment. He had spent half his night thinking of the brunette: his bright smile, his beautiful icy eyes, his perfect skin... He was beautiful, a symbol of perfection, a man who must've been sculpted by the Divines themselves. Fin felt his heart stop for a minute when those lovely eyes looked at him, so much as glance at him. He spent these few nights thinking of the future they had together: leaving Windhelm together, buying a house, starting a family. He wanted it so much...

Finrir whispered, "Love-"

"Fin," Til stopped him.

"What?"

"First, don't call me that. Second, leave me alone."

Surprised at Tiljor's direct words, Fin continued on anyway, "Did Hidar kill-"

"Not sure. That's what I'm trying to figure out," Tiljor, once again, cutting him off. "If he did though, I'm killing him."

"Hedlir," Til said, grabbing the redhead's attention from the throne. "When's the execution?"

The brunette felt Finrir's grasp tighten as Hed replied, "Tomorrow. You wanna see it?"

Fin's blood boiled rapidly as a smile made its way on Til's face, reacting to Hedlir's attempt at a joke. He _hated _this; Tiljor laughing with Hedlir... Damnit, he should've been laughing with _him. _

Til chuckled, "Yeah sure. Haven't seen an execution in a long time."

* * *

Hidar didn't sleep that night in his cell. His heart sank as he heard his father say the word 'execution' over and over in his head until it was driving him to scream and scratch the walls with his nails, leaving uneven white skid marks on the stone. The guards tossed and turned in their beds, complaining to each other about the wild screams keeping them awake, sounding as if Hidar was being murdered right there in the prison. Spending a long and excruciating night in the ridiculously small cell was awful, and, along with being executed tomorrow, was driving him insane.

He screamed one last time as loudly as he could, punching his fist against the wall, blood seeping through the wounds on his knuckles. He buried his face into his hands, ignoring the intense pain from his hand. Tears dripped from his chin, his eyes drooped; it was clear he was a mess, longing for his father's warm arms around him tightly. All he wanted was for his father to forgive him, was that so much to ask? Perhaps it was, but it certainly didn't mean for his head to get chopped off tomorrow.

"Fuck you!" he screamed in a strained voice. He wasn't sure if he was talking to himself, or his father... and that sort of scared him.

"Why..." he cried, tears streaming down his dirty cheeks.

"Hidar..."

The Nord jumped at the sound of his name. Peering into his cell, the man's hot breath reached Hidar's face. Dressed in a dark robe, the dim light covering his features, his beard dropped down onto his chest. His rough voice stung the very air around them, making Hidar wonder who, or what even, this man was...

Hidar said nothing, staring at the man with tired eyes. The man spoke softly, perhaps the softest voice Hidar heard in the longest time, "Look, you need to get out of here... _Don't_ ask anything. I'm just a friend who doesn't want to see you die."

The prisoner looked at the man, remembering what his father said about to never trust strangers... but that didn't matter now, did it?

"Ok, ok, ok..." Hidar mumbled. "Get me out."

The man fumbled with the robe, digging into one of the pockets. Moments later, he pulled out a key that shined in the light. As quietly as he could, he opened the cell gate, pushing Hidar out with a strong hand.

Hidar's back cracked as he stretched out all his limbs, taking for granted that he was out of that bloody box of a cell. He glared at the man afterwards, squinting his eyes, his mouth a fine line... a stare equal to his father's.

"Here, put this on. I'll lead you out," the man said, throwing Hidar his dark robe, revealing his Windhelm guard armor underneath.

As the man shoved the guard helmet onto his unknown head, Hidar put the robe on. He hugged himself, pulling the hood over his head, covering his eyes... giving him the look of some sort of serial killer. Strange, seeing as how he was.

Hidar trailed his rescuer's lead, his heart pounding as they made their way to the barracks. He knew he was going to be free, nothing should go wrong this time... He smirked at the thought of his father being pissed that he got away with none of the guards knowing. He couldn't return to Windhelm after all this; it hurt him slightly, knowing he would probably never be the Jarl, something he was born to be. No, it was never going to happen.

Most of the guards were sleeping rather soundly, their chainsaw-like snoring piercing the air. The man in front of the Nord said nothing, but glanced over his shoulder several times to see if he was behind him. The atmosphere of that place was overwhelming; Hidar didn't want to admit it, but anything could go wrong... absolutely anything.

"Listen to me," the man said as he opened the door to the barracks. His rough voice sound awfully familiar to Hidar... but he couldn't tell who it was. "I'm going to open the door of the Palace, and you need to find your way out of here."

"Why are you helping me?" the words flew out of Hidar's mouth. Almost immediately, he regreted saying anything instead of just nodding.

"Because I would rather die than watch your head get chopped off," he replied sharply. His exposed arms strained the veins as he opened the door to the outside of Windhelm, the bitter air flying into Hidar's face.

"Get your ass outta here!" the man said to the Nord, motioning his free hand for him to leave.

Hidar looked down the entire time he walked through Windhelm, the frigid air blowing in his face, the crunch of snow coming dimly to his ears. He had no desire to look up to the stone walls that barricaded him from the rest of Skyrim for seventeen years of his life. He begged his father to let him leave, just to walk on the bridge was all he wanted... 'No, you're just a child and you need me to be there with you!' his father lectured at him when he asked if he could leave the city. Oh, the memories...

The Nord opened the gate to the bridge of Windhelm, the beautiful stonework tiring him, bringing him down with all the memories. He bolted across the bridge, his lungs immediately burning from the chilly midnight air. He wanted to run away and never be found again by his father... but he still wanted to see his father's bright smile and hefty laugh. He wanted to run away from the law, for the sake of his life especially. All that mattered now was the end of the bridge across the river, the roars of the water calming him slightly.

He catched his breath at the end of the bridge, his hands numbing and stinging with cold. He turned around to look at the dark, blurry look of the Palace against the mountain, the wind and snow making him squint.

Remembering his father's warm hug, he whispered to himself, "I love you, Papa Bear."


	13. Ruthful Regret

**A/N: Here's chapter thirteen; I hope you like it. Feel free to review, or do whatever else. Nyte kapittel! (I think I said that right.) =)**

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

The next day came rather gradually, as if the night had lasted an era and dawn was finally on the horizon. The city slept silently; the inns were slightly packed, filled with song and chatter, the streets were empty and blurry from the whistling snow. Most of the people slept soundly in their beds, safe from the coming blizzard. As the sun lit up the sky, the guards working the night shift could've sworn they achieved frostbite and slept during their posts as usual.

An unknown and strange aura sat on the Palace. The air seemed to choke all who entered, as if some sort of curse had been planted on it. Everything, everyone, was still frozen by the prior day. It still rung in their minds, and perhaps their hearts as well. In any case, it wasn't pleasant... and this day was bound to be the last of his life.

With that in mind, Ulfric lied in his bed, staring up at the ceiling with his eyes wide awake. He didn't sleep that night, no, he _couldn't _sleep. His decision was teasing him, throwing insults and threats at him over and over again. The sight of his little boy crying helplessly in that chair next to him couldn't leave his mind; he challenged himself to think of anything other than Hidar, but he failed time and time again until he finally gave up. Perhaps he decided Hidar's fate out of anger, frustration, not thinking of what he was saying. It was killing him, both inside and out.

Ulfric turned on his side, staring out the window, watching the harsh snow collapse onto his city. As the blizzard welcomed the morning sun, the King focused on the snowflakes, thinking about his precious son. With Hidar clogging his mind, he swung his feet onto the floor, hitting the chill the wooden floors collected throughout the night. He grabbed his heavy fur coat from the nearby chair, dropping it on his shoulders.

When the King was fully dressed, he made his way downstairs, hearing the faint voices of Galmar and Jorleif through the thick stone walls that were dimly lit by the candles hanging on the wall. He felt his stomach rumble underneath his coat, begging for breakfast as a sweet, salty smell of food flew in the air. He sped his way to the throne room, seeing Galmar already at the table nibbling at some chicken.

"Ulfric!" Galmar exclaimed, swallowing the juicy meat, wiping his oily fingers on the towel next to him. "You're up early, eh?"

"I didn't sleep," the King confessed, taking a seat next to the old man. "What's there to eat?"

"You're getting clam chowder, I heard," he replied, taking a bite of the chicken. "Your favorite."

The King smirked faintly, chuckling. His heart felt heavy, his head clouded. Galmar's usual jokes attempted to lighten his spirits, all unsuccessfully; today wasn't the best day, it was obvious. It was haunting them, the Palace even; the air was thick and hot, rather unbearable. When the clock struck noon, life on Nirn wouldn't be the same anymore.

A silence crawled onto the two men as Sifnar came in with a hot bowl of salty clam chowder for the King. Jorleif sat across from Galmar, who tried and tried to raise Ulfric's dull mood. As the three Nords filled up on their breakfast, something was rather peculiar; it wasn't the same, something felt _off. _No one had to be the Skyrim version of Einstein to figure out what was troubling Ulfric, but even though they knew, they made no mention of it.

* * *

"Jorleif," Galmar called from the doorway of the steward's office. "Did you see Ulfric?"

The steward glanced up from shuffling the papers on his desk, a grin growing underneath his beard. "Um," he mumbled under his breath for a moment. "I believe he's in the Temple."

"Ah," the old man replied, recalling the King mentioning heading to the Temple this morning. "He went out there in the blizzard?"

As Galmar walked over and pulled up a chair in front of his desk, Jorleif sighed, "I don't think this execution is doing any of us any good."

Galmar placed a hand underneath his beard, pondering for a moment at the steward's opinion. The old man couldn't deny it was true, despite all the bullshit Hidar had done over these past four years. As he listened to the movement of paper against wood, the quill tapping against the inkwell, Galmar remembered the emptiness he saw in Hidar's eyes yesterday. It seemed cold, lifeless, just... perhaps heartless. All the scars the boy bared on his body, the dirt that laid istelf on his skin, the faded bruises and old scabs that healed underneath it. He could only imagine what caused Hidar to look, _feel, _like that.

"I don't think so either," Galmar finally admitted after a few minutes of dead silence. "I mean, think about it. Ulfric is a mess, I'm still shocked at it, and you haven't been yourself since he decided to kill him either."

Jorleif lifted his quill from the paper, a blot of ink dropping on the thin parchment. He looked up at Galmar, who had a spark of fire in his eyes, "Hidar wasn't the best boy, but... I still can't believe he's actually going to be _gone."_

The old man sighed heavily, placing a hand on his forehead. "'Can't believe it either. We both watched this boy grow up-"

"I don't think we can call him a boy anymore," Jorleif said, cutting him off. "Did you see the way he looked yesterday?"

Galmar paused, the image of Hidar with his hands bound re-entering his mind. "Aye... Well," he said, gathering himself again. "I'm sorry to bother you, you must be busy with all that paperwork."

The old man rose from his chair, pointing at all the paperwork scattered on his desk. Jorleif chuckled, "It's fine, Galmar. We all could use a good vent now and then."

"Ha! Gods know we would be having rainbow suicide smiles if we didn't," Galmar joked. He heard the steward chuckle as he wrote on the parchment, tapping his quill against the inkwell.

As the old man left, his footsteps becoming more distant and more mumbled, Jorleif was left with Hidar in mind: the little man he watched grow up.

* * *

The clock struck noon.

Ulfric felt his heart sink when he stared at the clock in the war room with an emotionless and lifeless glare. He was frozen, paralyzed as if a mage cast a spell on him. He sat in the chair, his eyes following the numbers, listening to the flat sounds of the constant _tick-tock _until it was all he could hear. He felt his heart pound against his rib cage furiously, his blood rushing through him, a vessel in his brain burning. He felt his hands shake as the clock showed now it was five minutes after twelve. He looked down onto the ground, only now noticing that his hands were shaking uncontrollably. The King was never like this: unsure, regretful. He was counting every second before this moment.

"Ulfric... it's time," he heard Galmar say from the other side of the room. His arms were crossed, staring at the King with a steel gaze.

The old man let his sympathy kick in, approaching the somber Ulfric, placing a hand on his shoulder. Nothing was said between them for a good few minutes, the silence being even more painful now that it was time for the execution.

"Galmar... Get Hidar. I want to have a few words with him before... before-" Ulfric stumbled with his words, his voice straining.

The old man immediately responded when he noticed a tear escaped out of the corner of the King's eye, "Alright. I'll get him, don't worry."

Galmar patted his shoulder one last time before he walked out of the room; the door closing sucked all the air out of the room for Ulfric. The old man sped to the barracks, the sounds of Nordic voices and tankards clashing coming dimly to his ears through the walls. He felt his heart race as he went by the halls that he must've passed by a million times. The guards stared at Galmar, more out of fear than curiosity. With an icy glare, he opened the door to the prison. Eyeing the cell that Hidar was placed in, he noticed the door was left open, and Hidar was gone.

The old man stared at the cell emotionlessly before he sped back to the war room. He burned the sight of the rugged dirt and the swinging cell door, pondering how Hidar was able to escape Windhelm with all the guards they had on the street… He knew he'd better confront Ulfric about their security in the city, but now, it wasn't the best time.

Galmar busted into the war room, his eyes immediately scanning Ulfric who stood looking out the window. The King closed his eyes, preparing the apology and words he had thought about saying to Hidar the entire night. Turning around, he was surprised to find only Galmar.

"Ulfric, he's gone!" the old man exclaimed, the words flying out of his mouth.

The King's brow came together, questioning what Galmar had just said, "What do you mean he's 'gone'?"

"He escaped. He's not in his cell."

"How could he-" Ulfric trailed off with his words. A flicker burned within him as the news was spilt; he approached Galmar, towering over him just like Hidar did with the guards. The old man knew Ulfric well enough to not to be afraid of his height, however a stranger wouldn't really feel the same.

"Damnit," the King muttered under his breath, his teeth grinding against each other. "Galmar, I want all our guards searching for him," he commanded.

"Again…?" Galmar squeaked, a brow rising.

"Don't question me when it comes to my son, Galmar," Ulfric said fiercely. "I want all of our guards on the lookout for him. I swear, if I have to look for him myself-"

"Alright, alright! Calm down," the old man requested, motioning his hands. "I'll send our best out to find him… He could be anywhere by now, you know."

"I know, Galmar. I want to find him; I feel better knowing he's safe here with me," the King said, challenging himself to calm down.

Moved by the King's words, only then did Galmar know for a fact Ulfric had probably cried when he was sent to get Hidar. Despite the bags that darkened over the past few days, his eyes looked red and puffy, and his face seemed a bit more red than usual.

"Alright. I'll tell the guards then…" Galmar reassured.

* * *

"Wait so… he's on the loose _again?" _a guard asked from the crowd of blue.

"You heard me. And yes, he's on the prowl again. So, some of you are assigned to go out there in the dirt and mud to look for him," Galmar announced to the guardsmen in the barracks. All of them were tired after a day of patrolling the city in the blizzard, but the old man continued on anyway.

"Remember, King Ulfric is counting on us to bring his son back alive and in one piece," he said, pointing his finger in the air for emphasis. He eyed each of the guards' faces, who stared at him as if they were teenagers who had just been ordered to finish their homework.

"You can't be serio-"

"I'm serious," Galmar snapped, cutting the soldier, who whined like a child, off. "Listen, some of you are already selected for this job. You're going to be lead by one of the Stormblades. Now, unless you are Berlen, Desi, Jorle, Finrir, Hedlir, Rema, or Tiljor, I suggest you head to sleep. If I called your name, well… you know what's going to happen. So pack up!"

Tiljor looked over his shoulder to his bed, hearing his name be called. His eyes unknowingly met Finrir's, who looked away from his kinsman automatically. He felt this strange feeling crawl on him when he looked at Galmar again, swearing he heard Finrir and Hedlir's name be called too. A stab of fear suddenly hit him, knowing he would have to spend a number amount of day with Fin, if he was in the same group as he was.

_Gods' blood, if I have to look for that damn monster with Fin around, I'm going to kill myself, _Tiljor thought spitefully, a sneer on his face.

As the called guards gathered their things from their beds, Galmar exited the room, watching the assigned Stormblades sitting at the table in the throne room, sipping their tankards. The old man made his way to the war room, stopping at the doorway when he saw Ulfric standing at the same exact window, looking out to the blizzard outside. Before he made his way upstairs to discuss the plan with Jorleif, a sly smile crawled its way onto Galmar's lips.


	14. Dead to One, Alive for Another

**A/N: 30,000 words, baby! Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna get a piece of cake to celebrate.**

**Mhmm... this cake is delicious!**

**Anywho, here's chapter fourteen. I honestly wasn't really expecting this story to reach 30,000 words; I hope you like the story so far, and if so, thank you. It means the world to me, really. Also, I wasn't expecting this chapter to be long like this, but I hope you enjoy it all the same.**

**Feel free to review. Enjoy. =)**

* * *

**C****hapter Fourteen**

Til gripped his shield with a firm hold, his knuckles white and his blood boiling with fury. As the chill seeped into his helmet, making his eyes water slightly, he pondered whether this was worth it or not. Bilen's bright smile, Terfor's shaggy chestnut hair, and Herdgir's scars entered his mind, burning him, teasing him even. Remembering how Herdgir accused Terfor of stealing his favorite toy, or when Bilen thought Finrir was spreading rumors about him behind his back, causing a rift between all of them. Tiljor felt a smile crawl on his lips underneath his helmet, the crunching of leaves and the swishing of dirt coming to his ears as he followed the rest of the guards. He looked over his shoulder, seeing if Hedlir was trailing close enough behind him.

"Keep your eyes peeled men," Istar called out, leading them through the volcanic beaches of Eastmarch. "Anything could be out here."

A shiver passed through the guardsmen, who marched on as if they were robots. Despite the chill, sweat poured down their faces underneath their helmets. Their feet ached, their hands strained, and their backs killed them; this was pointless, worthless, a waste of time. They rolled their eyes as they recalled why they were out here in the middle of Eastmarch as prey for animals and gods know what.

"Sir, can we head back to Windhelm now?" a soldier complained.

Istar sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with red fingers. "I wish I could say yes, kinsman," he replied, scanning the area around them. "If we went back, Ulfric would kick our asses, so I suggest we stick around here for a while longer."

Tiljor heard himself moan fractiously, kicking the dirt underneath his feet fiercely. His heart burned, his blood on fire. He wanted to get back to Windhelm, back to his family. He pictured his sisters and mother feasting on a roast at the dinner table beneath his distemper. He clenched his free hand on the hilt of his axe, grinding his teeth unknowingly against each other. His duty was in Windhelm, not in the entirety of Eastmarch.

"I'm going to have a big bottle of mead when this is over," the brunette heard Desi say hopefully, who walked with a battleaxe clinging onto her back.

"What, and get drunk and trash the city so we can clean up after you?" Jorle said, turning around so he was walking backwards to look at the soldiers behind him.

Desi chuckled underneath her helmet, "Shut up. It's not like you hate picking up after me."

"Get a room you two," Finrir spat, a sneer on his face.

"Looks like Finny jealous," Rema, who marched behind the blonde, teased.

"Aren't you still looking for a girl, Fin?" Jorle asked, thumbing his kinsman up.

_What in Oblivion are they talking about? _Istar thought, his brow coming together in consideration.

"No. I'm not," the blonde replied in a bitter tone. Tiljor felt a perplexing feeling crawl on him, sending a prayer to Talos that Fin didn't say anything… or at least anything that would bring down his mood to the soil.

"Really now?" Jorle said, rather surprised. "So… are you _sure _you don't have a leading lady Fin-Fin?"

"Alright, enough with the cheesy talk back there!" the Stormblade yapped, sounding like a teacher with a bunch of bad kids.

"Come on sir, we're just trying to lighten the air," Jorde said, turning back around.

"Yeah well, I need everyone to focus instead of talking about who slept with who."

The soldiers laughed hesitantly, turning around to look at each other. They were exhausted, and when you're exhausted, you didn't really know what you were doing. As for the guards, they spoke things they wouldn't normally say, and did things they wouldn't normally do. It wasn't the best time to tell them to focus.

_Yeah, tell me to focus again you big-ass brute, _Til thought spitefully, mouthing his thoughts. His eyes narrowed as his nostrils flared, obviously showing he wasn't in the best mood.

"Sir, did Jarl Ulfric say we need to look everywhere for this guy?" Rema said in a sleepy voice.

"_King _Ulfric," Istar corrected before answering her question. "And yes. Our orders are to search every damn cave or ruin that crosses our path."

The soldiers moaned again, dragging themselves behind the Stormblade. Hedlir could've sworn to the gods he was about to fall into a deep sleep, whereas Tiljor was angrier than ever. This wasn't the most important job to the soldiers; they would much rather spend their time in their home city than wandering in the hold. As the sun disappeared gradually on the edge of the horizon, Istar knew that his men were sleepy.

"Men," Istar called out.

"Yes, sir?" Berlen yawned.

"Let's call it a day. Obviously we're not going to get anywhere in the dark. Now, let's get our bedrolls and get some rest after this bloody day."

The soldiers kept their cheering to themselves, however Berlen couldn't help it and started clapping with joy. The guards pulled out their bedrolls from their pack, throwing it anywhere onto the dirt underneath the tall pine trees that bustled in the wind. They all collapsed on the furs, snuggling close to it, feeling a sense of satisfaction coming over them.

As the stars began to show in the sky, Jorde said tiredly, "Night-night everyone. Don't let the bed bugs bite."

"Shut up!" Fin, who was trying desperately to sleep, moaned.

"Yeah, well what about-"

"Shut up!"

"Fine. Be that way," Jorde sneered, rolling over to his side to see all his fellow guardsmen. "Hey," he continued. "Did any of you-"

"Jorde," Istar said firmly.

"What?"

"Shut up."

Tiljor couldn't help but chuckle, closing his eyes before venturing into a deep sleep.

* * *

_He was dressed rather peculiarly, gowned in a bright blue fabric embedded with gold trim. He studied himself in the mirror, unknowing of where he was or what was taking place. He rubbed the soft fabric of his shirt, feeling the cotton as soft as sheep's wool against his fingers. The bright daylight peeked through the windows, the rays hitting his nose. However, he felt empty inside, almost as if he wasn't real, a spirit perhaps._

_Tiljor shot a look to the door which opened abruptly, seeing Hedlir walk in dressed in fine clothes, a smile on his ivory face._

"_Well, someone looks nice," the redhead teased, walking over to his kinsman. "You ready?"_

_The brunette glanced himself in the mirror one last time before saying, "Yeah. Let's do this." Honestly, he wasn't sure if he was ready, feeling his stomach turn with anxiety. If he said something wrong, if he did something to anger anyone, it was over. That was certain._

_Til trailed Hedlir as he opened the door to Riften, or what appeared to be Riften. The houses seemed like little birdhouses made of fine, hardy wood, and the water underneath the streets gushed gently. The sky was clear, and the sun was shining brightly over them. It was a perfect day for this, nothing was out of place, nothing was wrong… It was just perfect._

_The two friends made their way to the Temple, the flowers blooming and the lights blazing. Hedlir opened the door to the Temple as Tiljor felt his heart pounding against his rib cage, his hands shaking. The Temple was crowded, filled with people he didn't recognized though. Some of them were elves, some were Khajiit, some were Argonians, and some were his native Nord. Ignoring the stares and smiles he received, he walked down to the priest, who stood proudly behind the altar._

"_Ah, and here comes the proud groom now!" the priest said happily, a smile approaching on his lips. "Now, let's begin the ceremony."_

_Tiljor stood next to his spouse, someone he couldn't clearly recognize either. His image was blurry, unclear. The brunette squinted at the person standing next to him, trying to make out as many details as he could. The person was blonde, no doubt about that; he was taller than he was, and his skin was as pale as a cameo pin._

"_It was Mara that first gave birth to all of creation and pledged to watch over us as her children. It is from her love of us that we first learned to love one another," the priest began, the crowd he faced stood silent._

_Til felt his hands shake even more as the priest continued on, his voice piercing the air, "It is from this love that we learn that a life lived alone is no life at all."_

_The priest paused a moment, which seemed like a lifetime to Til, "We gather here today, under Mara's loving gaze, to bear witness to the union of two souls in eternal companionship. May they journey together in this life and in the next, in prosperity and poverty, and in joy and hardship."_

_The priest gazed upon his fuzzy spouse, eyeing them for a moment before asking, "Do you agree to be bound together, in love, now and forever?"_

_Tiljor felt his heart ache and pound, his blood rushing when his apparent fiancé said loudly and proudly, "I do… Now and forever."_

_The priest smiled and turned to the brunette, who glanced at him for a mere moment, "Do you agree to bound together, in love, now and forever?"_

_The brunette felt everyone's stare, especially his fiancé's. This was it; this was the moment that would determine the rest of his life._

_Swallowing hard, Tiljor said with a shaky voice, "I-I do. Now and forever."_

"_Woo!" Til heard his sister exclaim from amongst the crowd._

"_Under the authority of Mara, the Divine of love, I declare this couple to be wed."_

_His now official wife (or husband, who knew?) turned to him, an obvious smile on their face. His spouse embraced him lovingly, but before they could kiss him to make their love official, Til heard his name be called, sounding out all the other noises._

"Tiljor! Tilly, wake up!"

Tiljor moaned with the sound of his name, feeling a thin layer of sweat dripping down his skin despite the chill in the morning air. His heart pounded, swearing he could feel the heat from the blurry person's lips upon his, feeling, _tasting, _the saltiness. He felt his hands shake underneath the furs of his bedrolls, the heat engulfing him, strangling him. He looked up to Hedlir's worried eyes above him, his hands on his shoulders. Til immediately felt comforted by the beauty of the redhead's eyes, the deepness of them.

"Are you alright there, brother?" Hed asked, his voice shaky.

As Hedlir loosened his grasp of Til's shoulders, he replied, "I... Yeah, I'm fine... Just a bad dream."

The redhead chuckled, his hair falling on his eyes, "You don't look very good... Anyway, you better pack up."

"What, already?" Til complained, stretching out his arms. He tried hard not to think of the blurry image of the fiancé in his dream away from his mind, but it wasn't easy.

"Yeah..." Hed muttered under his breath. "Here, lemme help you up."

Hedlir grabbed Til's wrist, helping him up. Til rubbed his sweaty hands on the furs on his armor, welcoming the cool breeze in the air on his face. He snatched his axe from Hed, who grabbed it off the ground.

"Alright men," Til heard Istar call out, reminding him why he was out here again. "Everyone up?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Rema whined, sitting on a rock chewing on a piece of hard bread. Berlen walked over, ripping off a piece of the bread and eating it, much to Rema's dismay.

It took a while for everyone to continue on the search. Jorde wanted to go down to the river nearby to catch a fish, Rema erupted when Berlen stole a piece of her bread, Desi appeared to take an interest in Finrir and attemptd to cuddle with him, and Hedlir thought he was being attacked by bees. Of course, they weren't like this when they were back in Windhelm, but it was obvious their kid-sides were coming to light. Nonetheless, Istar led his men down the hill once again.

"Keep it together back there," Istar ordered, his one good eye squinting in the sunlight. "We're all out here for a reason, not for a field trip."

"I swear by the Divines those were bees!" Hedlir complained, itching and jumping at every bug.

"Oh, shut your pie-hole Hed!" Finrir sneered. "Those weren't bees, those were dragonflies!"

_Ulfric better give me a big drink for this, _Istar thought as he listened to the amusing conversations his guardsmen had behind him.

An arrow whipped through the air, just passing Rema's dark hair, flying it in the air.

"Not another one of those damn arrows!" Istar roared. "Everyone, keep your guard up!"

By Istar's command, and simple panic, the guards raised their weapons, a combination of axes and swords. They looked around the forest that stood before them, jumping at every sound, especially Rema. Suddenly, the carefree atmosphere had turned into a dark one. The smiles and whines had turned into gasps and fine lines.

Another arrow flew in the air, piercing one of the guards who stood next to Tiljor. It wasn't Hidar who was shooting these arrows, but a woman who ran off long ago after Hidar was born.

The guard who was shot in the lung collapsed on the grass, the others huddling over him to try and aid him. Rema and Desi stood guard, not noticing the woman, perhaps assassin now, running off into the wilds once again. Tiljor kept his distance from Finrir as they both held the guard who gasped for air, his chest tightening. The brunette sent a silent prayer to the gods to let his injured kinsman be Hedlir, of all people.

Fin, who was rather calm, pulled off the guard's helmet, and Tiljor felt as if someone punched him in the stomach. He wasn't ready for this, he wasn't prepared. It was the same thing all over again, the same pain. He didn't save his three brothers, but he was going to save his fellow guardsmen from death's doorstep. This wasn't going to happen, not while he was breathing.

* * *

"Is he going to survive?" Tiljor said worryingly, looking at the healer with shocked eyes. Finrir stood beside him, looking as if nothing was happening.

"I'm not sure," the healer said with a calm voice. "Look, the arrow struck him near one of the arteries in his heart... He's already lost a lot of blood."

Til sighed, looking down on the ground. "Alright... Thank you... Wait, I'd like to see him."

The healer hesitated for a moment, before saying, "Yes, you can. Here, let me show you to him..."

Tiljor followed the healer into the back room, where Hedlir laid on his back on one of the beds. The brunette felt his heart sink when Hed looked at him with a fragile smile, yet his eyes were more alive than he was. A bandage was wrapped tightly around his chest, a large speck of blood drying on the fabric. The light that seeped in through the window revealed the deep blueness in his eyes, making Tiljor burn the beauty of his eyes into his mind.

"Hey," Hedlir said weakly, his hair covering his eyes. "I didn't know you were here."

Tiljor smiled to his kinsman, walking over to him, "Been here for a while now, Hed. Fin's here too, but... you know."

"Til..." Hedlir said.

"What?" the brunette replied gently.

"I want you to have this," the redhead said, opening his fist to reveal a weaved bracelet.

Til glanced at the piece of jewelry for a moment before saying, "Are you sure?"

Hedlir nodded, and, with his approval, Tiljor hesitantly took the bracelet, studying it. It was woven with strong wires of thread, with a bead of gold attached within every inch of it. The centerpiece of it was a beautiful sapphire, surrounded by spinels. The gem was a deep blue with a strong tinge of purple, just like Hedlir's eyes.

"It was my mother's," Hed spoke as Tiljor placed the bracelet on his wrist carefully. "I want you to have it now."

Til gave a faint smile, "Thanks... How are you feeling?"

"I've been better," the Nord replied. "I heard the healer say I'm not going to live..."

Immediately, Tiljor placed a hand on Hed's cold shoulder. "Aren't you afraid? I mean, because of this..." he trailed off with his soft-spoken words.

Hedlir shook his head, his eyes gazing into Til's. "No... Not really. I watch my sister die in a housefire, and I watched my father die by a group of rebels like us."

Til felt a shock of sympathy for his friend. "I'm sorry Hedlir... If there was something I could do-"

"No, it's fine Tiljor," Hedlir reassured, placing his hand on Tiljor's with a warm smile. "If I'm meant to die, then so be it. Sovngarde isn't a bad place... It'll be alright, and you're a strong enough man to carry on without me."

* * *

The brunette collapsed onto the closest bench, burying his face in his hands. Fin followed him, placing a hand on his shoulder to comfort him. Inside, Finrir was delighted; this is what he wanted... but he knew this was important to his love, so he acted plainly.

"I swear, if Hedlir dies because of this-"

"He won't," Fin reassured, his voice soothing and barely a whisper. "If anyone can survive this, it's Hedlir."

The words Finrir spoke to Til reminded him of how Hedlir told him that he once killed a bear singlehandedly. The redhead was only in the next room behind the statue, yet it felt like he was miles away. He closed his eyes and thought of his friend: his fiery orange hair, his little freckles that dotted themselves on his nose, skin as pale as opal, and, of course, his beautiful violet eyes. Knowing there was a chance he could never see those eyes or hear his clear voice again made Tiljor shiver with worry.

The two friends sat there, either rubbing their foreheads or staring at the statue before them. Five hours they were there, mainly because Til refused to leave. Five hours of praying, five hours of sitting and waiting, five hours of building anxiety. It was unbearable, Til couldn't stand it, and his butt certainly couldn't take sitting anymore either.

"Tiljor, it's been five whole hours!" Fin whined, stretching out his arms, wrapping one of them around his kinsman.

The brunette scooted away from Finrir's grasp, "I know. You can leave, but I'm staying here."

Fin chuckled, "You always were the stubborn one."

Til rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "I'm not stubborn. I simply want to be there when my brother dies," he said, a hint of sadness in his voice.

"He's not going to die, stop thinking like that," Fin demanded. "But if he does, gods forbid... you know you still have me."

Tiljor wasn't sure if what Fin had said was in a romantic way, a comforting way, or both. "If he does die, I have no one," he spat bitterly, remembering what happened between him and the blonde.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm not friends with you anymore," Til confessed harshly. "I gave you up a long time ago, and that's the way it's going to stay."

Finrir, who was taken aback by his words, spoke softly, "You know that's not true."

Til restrained himself from screaming inside the Temple, instead closing his eyes and breathing deeply. He felt Fin's arm around him, but he made no intention of moving. Fin was right; maybe what he said wasn't true, maybe it was said out of anger. He didn't dare look Fin in the eye, he was too wrapped up in his own emotions to think of what was right to say.

Only when the healer returned to the two friends, Til opened his eyes. The healer, who was still robed, appeared surprised that the two Nords were still sitting there. A grim look was on her face, a straight look that pierced Tiljor's heart and soul.

She walked over to the two of them, and said gently, "Excuse me, your friend... He survived the healing process."

Tiljor felt his heart leap with joy, while Finrir felt his own heart burn with fury.


	15. One Reason

**A/N: Well, here's chapter fifteen. I finally decided the plot I'm going to follow. This chapter took me a little longer to write (I've been having a rough past few days).**

**Anyway, with that aside, is anyone liking the story at all? I love to hear what others think of this fanfic, so feel free to leave a review with your opinion. **

**Enjoy. =)**

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen**

"What do you want to do now?" Galmar asked, his bushy eyebrows resting above tired eyes that begged for rest. "One of our men nearly died out there," he said, not trying to pressure the King. "If you want to look for him, we might as well try something else. He could be anywhere by now."

Ulfric stared at Galmar with solicitous eyes, his fingers clenching into fists. "I understand that," he spoke, hearing his voice shake. "I want to-"

"Wait," the old man suddenly snapped, cutting the King off. "Don't tell me you want to continue looking for him."

The King's brow came together, his chest broadening. The fact that his housecarl was questioning him was vexatious; it wasn't like Galmar to ponder his decisions like that. It was rather peculiar, but nonetheless annoying.

"Yes, Galmar," Ulfric said, his voice piercing the air around the two of them. "He's _my _son, and don't question me again on this matter!"

"You might as well wrap me in a piece of bread and call me a sausage," the old man said, provoking Ulfric even more. "Look, I know he's your boy, but we don't know what he's capable of! Look at what he did to the guards on the docks!"

"Galmar," the King hissed. "Do _not _question me. You will send our men out there and find him!"

The old warrior was bound by silence, his loyalty to Ulfric shutting his mouth. Sometimes he wished to voice his opinion, but he held his tongue most of the time. Then again, Ulfric was the High King there; Galmar knew there was no way to convince him to stop looking for Hidar, and his conscience cursed at him for even thinking such a thing. The old man made a self-note to take this matter with utmost caution, around both Ulfric and perhaps Hidar if he was ever found. To him, this was just a waste of time, a distraction even from what the King's _real _duties were.

Galmar moved his head curtly as he sighed, "Alright then… If that is what you want, I'll gather our best for another round."

"Find him," Ulfric ordered, "and don't say a peep until you bring him back."

"Aye," the old man said as he turned around, rolling his eyes.

* * *

The atmosphere around them was warm, gentle and inviting as the people around them gathered, drinking their mead and laughing deeply with others. The limp salad had slept next to the cooked venison as Tiljor played carelessly with the meat with Hedlir rubbing his chest enduringly, a painful look on his face. Til chuckled lightly as he eyed Hed, who squirmed uncomfortably in his seat.

"What are you laughing at?" the redhead asked, his eyes glancing onto Til's barely touched plate.

"Nothing," Tiljor replied, bunching up the salad with his fork. "You don't look very good."

"Please, it's been two days since I nearly died," Hedlir said, reminding his kinsman what _could've _happened. "But it's not that bad, I suppose."

Til grinned, "I wonder if that'll happen again to you."

"Shut up," Hed snapped. "And you don't look good yourself either, what's wrong?"

The brunette looked across the table to Hedlir as he gulped down his ale, his face straight and emotionless. His cold eyes looked tired with light bags underneath them, his skin as pale as one of those Wispmothers. Then again, he almost always looked tired.

"Nothing," Tiljor said simply, chewing on a piece of the venison. "This is how I usually am."

"Like this?" Hedlir questioned, a dumbfounded look on his face. "Like a wreck?"

"I'm not a wreck," his friend replied immediately. "This is just how I am."

The redhead watched as his fellow guardsmen ate without much care before shrugging. He never understood it; he knew Tiljor for a few years now, but he could never grasp how he looked like a mess, yet nothing was wrong with him. It was odd, but Hedlir decided to kill the subject afterwards, seeing as how it was going nowhere.

"Hey," Hedlir said, swallowing his food. "How did you and Finrir meet anyway?"

Tiljor felt a shiver crawl on his spine when he heard the name. He hesitantly grabbed his bottle of ale, but as soon as his lips touched the rim of it, he said, "Our mothers knew each other. We grew up together."

Hearing Til's voice shake, Hedlir replied, "Oh, nice. I never grew up with anyone... My father was too busy yelling at me."

"I don't really want to talk about it," Til said with little emotion.

"Oh, sorry. Just trying to start conversation," Hedlir said awkwardly. He could feel the immediate astriction in the air as the two of them ate uncomfortably.

_Maybe it would've been better if you didn't ask him, _Hed thought, looking at the crowd around them. _Yeah, it would've been better. _

* * *

Galmar squinted hard at Jorleif, listening to the unending list of questions and opinions. He shifted uncomfortably from one leg to another, trying to balance himself as he clenched his hands into fists. One time was enough, but this time was annoying him. As he remembered how Hidar stood emotionless in the doorway with his hands tied, he couldn't help but recall all the memories that came with that sight; he heard himself chuckle lightly as he recalled how ecstatic Ulfric was when Hidar said 'Papa' for the first time, and how Ulfric worried when Hidar couldn't stop biting his hand. It all seemed simpler back then.

"Why did you do it, Galmar?" the steward asked, his voice trembling with either concern or animosity.

The old man sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Listen, someone had to do it. I'll be damned if Ulfric makes that decision again," he growled.

The steward looked at Galmar, who turned his gaze towards the window. "I'm not blaming you," he finally said after a few moments of painful silence. "We both know Ulfric is going to find out sooner or later."

The words pierced the air more than usual, and Galmar felt a stab of guilt hitting him. "Aye... If you tell Ulfric about this-"

"I won't," the steward said plainly, eyeing the old man as he looked at him with perturbed eyes. "There's enough trouble as it is... Do you think Hidar will still be executed?"

Galmar turned away, looking out the window. As the evening sunlight peeped through the glass, he said calmly, "I don't know... He can't be appointed Jarl, so he's probably just going to end up in jail."

The old man felt his hands shake within his gauntlets, his chest tightening. It was never supposed to be like this; every day was haunted by him, every day they had to think about his fate if he was caught. Now, he could've been anywhere in Skyrim... It wasn't really worth the touble anymore, but he couldn't bring himself to think like that.

A soft knock came on the door.

"Come on in," Jorleif called. A towering, and perhaps somber, Ulfric walked in. Galmar felt his heart race as he saw the tired look on Ulfric's face, the light flickering off his skin.

"What are you two doing in here?" the King asked, his voice soft and quiet.

"Oh, we were just..." the steward began, his words trailing off as Ulfric arched a brow at him. "We were discussing Whiterun."

"Good. Galmar," Ulfric ordered, giving a stern look to his right-hand man. "I need you to be in the throne room. Brunwulf Free-Winter demands a hearing."

The old man shot a glance at Jorleif before saying, "Alright. I'll be there... What, about the Gray Quarter?"

Ulfric nodded, the candle's light that bounced off the walls reflecting in his eyes. "Correct. I'm not sure what he wants exactly, Galmar, but we might as well find out."

Jorleif crossed his arms, glancing at Galmar, then Ulfric, who stood in the doorway as if he didn't want the two of them to leave. "You two might as well get to work... Galmar, we'll talk more later."

The old man looked at Jorleif, bowing his head with an emotionless stare. Galmar trailed behind Ulfric as they made their way to the throne room, his heart pounding. The air whipped as Ulfric walked through the dimly-lit halls, the fur from his thick coat blowing softly.

_You know Jorleif is right, _Galmar thought to himself. _Ulfric is bound to find out... If he discovers what you did, your head's gonna get chopped off. _

* * *

The following morning, Tiljor opened his eyes to bright sunlight that came in through the window, the warmth of the rays hitting his skin, making his nose tickle. He snuggled up against the soft furs on his bed, listening to the snoring of his fellow guards that hit the air around him. Waking up from a dreamless sleep, he turned on his back and stretched his arms, releasing the tension within them. He rubbed his eyes, pushing his hair away from them as he rose up, his exposed arms getting the chill that was in the air. As he heard the quiet voices of his kinsmen at the table eating breakfast, he swung his feet to the floor.

"Morning, Tilly," Hedlir said, who blew his coffee gently, spinning the spoon around in circles in the tankard. "How'd you sleep?"

Tiljor moaned, "Fine, I guess. What's there to eat?"

Hed watched Til grab his cuirass from underneath his bed, taking a tentative sip of his hot drink. "There's sweetrolls, soup, some meat... There's also this creepy-looking pie made with nuts," he joked, glancing at the cooked, golden-brown pie that sat on the counter on the other side of the room.

"Sounds nice, but I'm allergic to nuts," Til admitted, adjusting the leather straps on his armor until they were tight. He sat down and grabbed his boots while Hedlir made his way to one of the tables, setting his coffee down onto the wood. He ruffled his hair as he watched Finrir take a bowl of clam chowder from the counter, placing a piece of leek inside it.

When his boots and armor were fully on, Tiljor made his way to the row of counters, eyeing the food laid out on it. A plate of sweetrolls, a few bowls of venison soup, a platter with some meat, and a couple bowls of clam chowder. The combined smell of all the spices made his stomach rumble with hunger, so much so that he didn't even notice who he was standing next to. The sharp pain in his stomach blinded all other things.

"Good morning," a familiar voice said next to him. Til looked to his side, and saw Finrir, much to his buried dismay.

_'Good morning'. Speak again and I'll throw you in the damn river. See how you'll like that, _Tiljor thought bitterly. However, he held his tongue, and, without even thinking, he grabbed a bowl of soup and sped to the table where Hedlir sat. Finrir stared at him the entire time, noting how rude Til was to ignore him. The blonde raised his eyebrows in surprise, turning back to his breakfast.

Hedlir chuckled to himself as Tiljor sat next to him hurriedly. He sipped his coffee, turning a blind eye to the sour look Fin gave him. He felt a shiver pass through him when he accidently glanced into Fin's eyes, but he quickly struck down the aversion. The awkwardness he felt was broken when he heard Til's voice.

"Don't pay attention to him," Til whispered, sipping his soup. "Just pretend he's not there; think that guard armor is just floating there."

Hed chuckled loudly, making Fin look at him again with an icy gaze.

_Hedlir said something, _Fin's conscience teased. _You know he did, and Tiljor is believing it. _

The door to the barracks opened, and Galmar walked in. He looked tired, an aura sitting on him that wasn't pleasant.

"Hey, Galmar!" Jorde yelled, and was later hit in the shoulder by Desi, messaging him to quiet down. "Oh right, sorry..." Jorde said afterwards. "Anyway, you came to visit?"

Galmar huffed, hands on his hips. He said plainly, "Guess what. We're going to send you out to look for Hidar again."

Berlen spit out his soup, "What!? Oh no, come on!"

_You're shitting me, _Tiljor thought. _Hedlir almost died out there, and their sending us out there again?_

"Anyway, it's not my choice... You know how Ulfric is," Galmar said, rolling his eyes as he recalled how the King demanded the guards to search again. "It's going to be all of you, just like last time."

"You can't make us do that again! Heddy almost died!" Jorde complained.

"I know," the old warrior said, glancing at the redhead. "Look, I'm just the messenger here. You want to complain, go speak to Ulfric. You guys are leaving with Istar at noon."

The group of guards sent burdensome looks to each other, playing with their food as Galmar left moments later. It would've been safe to say that they dreaded the reality of heading out there - for the second time - to look for a murderer, who could've been anywhere by now. It wasn't fair, unless Ulfric was giving them a large raise for this, which was unlikely. Anyone could see the annoyance in the guards' eyes, the burden they had to carry by risking their lives out there in Eastmarch looking for someone who was crazy, delusion even.

It was for a simple reason why Tiljor rose from his chair and walked over to his bed, a reason that stemmed from his toddlerhood. He grabbed his axe from his end table, shoving into its sheath. A smirk appeared on his face, remembering what he told himself when it came to Hidar. Opening the table, he grabbed the bracelet Hedlir gave to him and placed it on his wrist. He rubbed his neck, not feeling the cool chain on his skin, not being able to touch the smooth surface of the cat tooth.

Placing the necklace in the back of his mind, he closed the table. Rubbing his fingers through his hair, he walked out of the barracks. He made his way out of the Palace, knowing exactly what he was doing, yet he felt his heart pound against his rib cage. The cool chill hit his face when he stepped outside, looking up at the stone walls that towered over all the other buildings in Windhelm, reaching up to the sky. Before he took another step, a hand placed itself on his shoulder.

"Hey, where are you going?" Hedlir said, looking at Til. "We're not leaving until noon."

Tiljor turned around, "I'm leaving. I'm looking for Hidar on my own."

Hedlir gave a confused look, "What?"

"I'm going to look for Hidar," Til repeated.

"No, let me go with you. If you're _serious, _you can't take him by yourself... You don't know what he's capable of," Hedlir warned. He honestly couldn't believe what he was hearing...

Before Tiljor could accept, Finrir came jogging into the picture. "What's going on? Why are you two out here by yourselves?" the blonde asked.

"Til's leaving. He's going to look for Hidar," Hedlir replied to him. "I'm going with him."

Finrir immediately snapped at Hed, "Then I'm coming to. If you're going, I'm going."

"Wait, Finrir..." Tiljor said.

"No, Tiljor," Fin said, cutting him off. He approached his kinsman, making Til freeze with uneasiness. "If Hedlir is going," the blonde whispered, sending a shiver throughout Tiljor, "then I'm going too. I don't want you to be alone with him."

Til took a deep breath, not knowing he was holding his own breath. He sighed, "Alright. Fine... If you want to come, I'm not going to stop you."

_Damnit, why couldn't you say 'no'!? _Til's conscience said spitefully. He ignored the voice inside his head, and turned around, continuing his way out of Windhelm.

"You think he's serious?" Hedlir asked Fin, who both followed Tiljor with their sheaths carrying their weapons.

"I don't know, Hedlir," Finrir hissed at the redhead, who cocked his head. "You are going to stay away from Tiljor, understood?"

Hearing the fierceness of the blonde's voice, Hedlir backed away in fear. "Woah," he muttered. "Ok, calm down... I was just asking."

Finrir sighed irritably, jogging up to Tiljor with Hed following. Oh no, Hedlir wasn't doing _anything _with Til while Fin was around, that was for damn sure. It was unknown to Tiljor about Fin's warning, and Hedlir was certainly befuddled by it. Even if he did know, it would be the last thing on Tiljor's mind. Now, he wanted to find Hidar, and bring him back to Windhelm for the fate that he deserved.

It was for a simple reason that Tiljor left with Hedlir and Finrir following him, a reason revolving around Bilen, Herdgir, and Terfor.


	16. Unknown Plans

**A/N: Holy shit, this chapter is long! I tried to add a bit of romance and action here and there in this chapter. **

**By the way, the action scenes in this chapter might be a little crappy (I suck when it comes to writing action scenes).**

**I hope you enjoy, and feel free to review! =)**

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen**

The three men made their way out of Windhelm, welcomed by a cool chill in the air and a gentle breeze. The sky above them was already a baby blue, spotted by pure white clouds; the sun shone down blindingly on them. The water underneath the bridge they walked on swished calmly, the birds chirping dimly in the wind. Footsteps were plotted in the snow from the blizzard, which was still being shoveled by some of the guards and workers. The trio ignored the looks they received from their fellow guards and the stablemen they knew their entire lives; their kinsmen figured Ulfric had given them a special task that bothered them enough to leave Windhelm, something that was obviously far from the truth.

"Tiljor," Hedlir said when they reached the end of the bridge, snatching the brunette's attention. "Which hold are we heading to?"

_"Hold?" _Finrir sneered; Til knew from his expression that he thought Hed had lost his intelligence. "Hidar is in Eastmarch, not Hjaalmarch."

"That's not what we heard," the redhead sang so only Tiljor could hear him in the wind, making him giggle. "Last I heard he was in Falkreath," he said afterwards, loudly enough so Fin could hear him.

Finrir said, "Then we're heading to Falk-"

"Riften," Tiljor spat.

Hedlir and Finrir turned their heads to look at Tiljor, and stared at him as if he was an alien. Hedlir saw no problem, yet Fin felt like someone punched him in the stomach. Til returned the stare only to Hedlir, not being able to bring himself to look into Fin's eyes; perhaps it was fear, or maybe avoidance. Tiljor felt Fin's algific gaze on him, freezing his blood while he smirked as he looked at Hed, who let out a girly laugh.

"What are you two laughing at?" Fin demanded, scrunching his nose as his hair blew in the wind.

"Nothing," Hedlir replied for Til, who felt a sudden burden lift off of him. "We're telepathically communicating," he joked, not lifting Fin's spirits.

Tiljor turned around, the voice in his head ordering him to keep his giggles to himself. The three of them made their way down the south road, not remembering the last time they traveled down that road. They listened to the birds chirping above them, and the sounds of their boots on the stone. Til was still grasping what they were doing, looking for a _killer _on their own, someone who could butcher them and have them for lunch.

_Don't think like that, _Til heard the little voice inside his head say. _You're not alone out here. _

"Yeah right," he mumbled to himself as his ears picked up fussing from behind him.

Tiljor felt a tug at his hand, looking down at it to see his fingers intertwined with his kinsman's. He stared down at it for a minute, noting how perfect his fingers fit in the space in between Fin's fingers. He felt the heat of his kinsman's skin against his palm, warming him as the wind blew in their faces. Til unknowingly looked up to Finrir's face, feeling his heart pound and his stomach twist. Finrir ogled into Tiljor's eyes that stung him like the shards of ice that hung from the houses in Windhelm; he felt his heart stop when he looked into Tiljor's eyes. Now, he was so _close _to his love, close enough to feel his breath on his face.

"Are you two ok?" Hedlir asked, who continued to walk behind Til. "Focus on the road; I don't want you guys to run into a tree."

Til immediately pulled his hand away from Finrir, and returned his gaze onto the road when Hedlir broke the silence. Fin felt his face blaze when his kinsman sped forward, his every movement ever so graceful. Hedlir jogged up and walked next to Finrir, who glared ahead at Til.

"What in Oblivion was that about?" the redhead asked dubiously.

"None of your damn business," Fin replied harshly.

_Why can't Tiljor just admit that he wants to be with me? _Fin's conscience questioned as he gripped the hilt of his sword tightly.

The trio stopped in their tracks when a roar erupted in the forest sky.

"What the fuck was that?" Fin panicked, unsheathing his sword and held it up, stopping in his tracks.

The birds flew into the sky as the roar became closer, magnifying in their minds. Tiljor backed away until he was standing next to Finny once again, his eyes locked on the direction where the sound came from.

Almost automatically, a black bear plunged down from the hill above them. The beast roared into the sky, making the Nords' hearts race in their chests, their blood picking up the speed.

"Holy _shit!" _Hedlir called out, jumping out of the bear's way.

Letting out a fierce battle cry, Finrir swung his sword at the bear, who raised its paws up and struck his shield. The force from the mega paw made the blonde stumble, feeling a sudden pressure on his chest.

He regained his footing, lifting his shield up to the massive creature. Tiljor leaped in, running to the beast before swinging his axe, striking it in the cheek. Arrows flung in the air from Hedlir's bow as the bear's paw wrapped on Til's axe, making him struggle to release the weapon from the beast's grasp. The animal's roar made the brunette shiver, a drop of sweat coming down his forehead as he pulled his weapon from the bear's closed paw. He narrowed his eyes as the bear collapsed on its four paws, growling loudly at the Nords around it.

Then Finrir saw an opportunity.

_That fucking bear is not hurting the love of my life, _the blonde thought as he felt his teeth grind against each other.

Hedlir released an arrow from his bow, striking the bear in one of its bulging eyes. The creature roared in sharp, blinding, pain, blood seeping from its eyes, the arrow sticking out of it. The bear backed away, growling and moaning when Finrir ran up to it, stabbing it in the throat, sinking his sword within the veins and flesh. The beast's mouth gaped open, a drip of drool trailing down the fur. The sounds of the Nords' hard breathing dimmed out all the other sounds as the bear finally collapsed on the road, making Fin pull out his sword with all his strength, the metal tainted with a fresh coating of blood.

"By the gods," Hedlir muttered under his heated breath. He swallowed hard and placed his bow on his back. "I think its dead, eh?"

"'Bear's not breathing," Tiljor responded, kicking the bear in the stomach as it laid in its own pool of blood on the road.

"My love," Fin mumbled as he sped over to Til, who breathed hard out of his nose, loosening the grip on his weapon. "Are you alright, darling?" he asked, placing a hand on his kinsman's shoulder.

'_Darling'… Bitch, please, _Til immediately thought, but he kept it to himself.

"Don't worry," he reassured Fin, brushing the grip he had on his shoulder away. "I can handle myself."

After several deep breaths, the trio sheathed their weapons and continued down the south road. Tiljor thanked Talos that none of them were hurt by that damn bear, and he tried frantically to push the way he held hands with Fin out of his mind. He felt his heartbeat die down, listening to Fin and Hed's breathing behind him. He couldn't remember the last time he killed a _bear, _although he couldn't recall when he was out there in Eastmarch without his family or Istar leading him.

"Hey," Hedlir whispered to Til, jogging up to him so he was walking beside him. "I don't mean to be nosy, but... were you and Fin holding hands?"

Tiljor chuckled, he knew the redhead was going to ask sooner or later. "Look," he confided, leaning in to the redhead. "He _loves _me."

"Wait... Finrir loves you? Like, _loves _you?" Hed breathed, his brow coming together.

"Yeah... He loves me. What, you didn't know?" the brunette whispered back; he could feel Hedlir's breath on his face, seeing the surprise in his beautiful eyes.

"No. He told me to stay away from you, but that's about it," the redhead muttered, rolling his eyes as a bright smile was drawn on his face.

Tiljor laughed. The thought that Finrir actually told Hedlir of all people to 'stay away' from him... it sounded preposterous, _stupid _even. Although, it didn't seem something that Finrir wouldn't say; he has been rather... controlling, so to speak, of him ever since that incident in the bathroom. Til almost thought it was funny, watching Fin do something like that towards someone who didn't return his feelings.

"What are you two whispering about?" the blonde beseeched as he pushed Hedlir away from Tiljor so he was walking in between them. "I told you to stay away from him, Hedlir," he said staunchly.

"Finrir..." Til moaned.

"Hey, he's my friend. So what if we talk?" the redhead defended, throwing his hands in the air.

As Tiljor played with the bracelet Hed gave to him on his wrist, he listened to Fin's response, "He's _not _your friend. He's _mine!" _

Hearing Fin snap, Til joined in, "Alright, alright. Enough..."

Finrir sent a sour look to Hed, who pretended nothing had occured, before looking at Tiljor. He gave a soft look to his love, watching the simple beauty of him; the way his hair blew in the wind and shone in the sunlight, and the way he gracefully walked on the road had hypnotized him. He attempted to hold his hand again, but Tiljor pulled his hand away. He felt a shiver crawl on his spine as Til looked at him.

"Fin," Til said quietly to his kinsman.

"Yes, my love? Is something wrong?" the blonde replied, a worried look on his face.

"Yeah, I need-"

"What do you need? I'll give you anything, my love, I swear."

Tiljor chuckled before he continued, "I need you to lighten up."

Fin's brow came together, not understanding what his friend had told him. "What do you mean?"

"What I mean is, you need to back off," the brunette said, pretending to check his axe, which clung inside the sheath.

"'Back off'? How am I supposed to back off?"

"By shutting up," Hedlir said, glancing around at the empty, sandy, volcanic beaches around them, dotted with pine trees.

* * *

The trio made their way to the edge of the Rift's border before the sun had begun to set. Despite Finrir's resistance, the three slept beside the road, snuggled up warmly in their bedrolls. The sounds of the wind blowing in the trees, the wolves howling, and the small animals running in the forest around them woke them up, startling them thinking there was someone out there trying to get them. It had reminded Tiljor of how Finrir and him used to have sleepovers when they were younger, and pretend they were camping out in the forest late at night... Of course, that was before Fin went crazy.

Finrir rolled on his side, facing Til, whose bedroll was next to his on the dirt. The brunette examined his kinsman: soft bangs of platinum blonde hair covered his skin, which was as pale as a cameo pin. His soft features blurred his bold, and perhaps nagging, personality. His lips were smooth and curtly shaped, and, watching him sleep peacefully, Tiljor noticed how much he looked like his mother, Neola.

Returning his attention to the early morning sky that blanketed over them, the brunette sighed. Listening to the constant snoring of his kinsmen was annoying, yet he calmed himself thinking of his mother and sisters warming over the fire underneath the cooking pot that always filled up the house with spices of food.

Tiljor heard Hedlir stretch, moaning loudly as he released the tension within his arms. The sun peeked over the horizon to start a new day, the sky a light purple, the stars disappearing.

"By the gods, I thought I was in my house," the redhead yawned, pushing his bright, tangled, hair away from his eyes. "Hey, Tilly."

"Hey, Hed," the brunette smiled, watching his friend pull the fur away from his legs. "How'd you sleep?" he asked.

As Tiljor rose from his bedroll, Hedlir rubbed his hands through his hair and said, "Like a baby. Is Fin up yet?"

"Uhh..." Til muttered, glancing over to the blonde, who slept soundly in his furs. "He's a rock," he finally said as Hed grabbed his bow and quiver from the ground.

A smile passed on the redhead's face, "Are we heading out soon?"

"Yeah. Lemme wake up Finny-boy here," Tiljor replied, adjusting the sheath of his axe.

As Hedlir got ready to move out, Til made his way to his sleeping brother, who snuggled warmly against his bedroll. He examined how peaceful he was, how _quiet. _He couldn't remember the last time he knew Fin was calm, instead of being anxious and acrimonious. It almost soothed Til himself, and he knew Finrir well enough to know that the only time he was able to relax was when he slept. Now, he knew that Fin was over the edge since they were heading to Riften; it wasn't any of his business, but Tiljor blamed that on Fin's father.

"Finrir..." the brunette said gently, rubbing the blonde's shoulder until his eyes opened gradually.

The blonde gave a tired, faint, smile to Tiljor, who returned it. "Good morning, my love," he said, stretching out his arms like Hedlir did.

_Why does it keep on calling me that? _Til thought before putting a nice front, "'Morning. Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah," he yawned, pulling the warm furs of his bedroll away from him.

Tiljor stood back up, and made his way to Hedlir, who leaned against a nearby tree with his arms crossed. The redhead's eyes twinkled in the early morning sunlight, the rays hitting his ivory skin as he stared down the, perhaps small, mountain. His eyes glanced at the volcanic area in front of the blurred image of Windhelm. His mind drifted to his family, thinking how his mother was doing without him these past few years. He felt his heart pound with fury, blinking away the image of his mother.

"Oh, hey. Finny ready yet?" he asked Til, who stood emotionlessly next to him.

"He's getting up. How far is Riften, do you know?" the brunette asked, arching an eyebrow.

"I think it's a day or two away from here, depending on who we're going to run into or if we're going to take a carriage," Hedlir replied.

"Take a carriage, my ass," Til sneered, joking his way with Hed. "We're going to have to walk."

"Alright then," the redhead said. "Hey, Fin, you ready?" he called out.

Finrir tied his leather boots on, and grabbed his sword from the ground. "Yeah," he said, a yawn escaping his mouth. "Let's get our asses walking."

_Here we go again, _Til's conscience said as they made their way to the road, following the stonework. Slowly, nearly not even noticeable, the trees turned from green pine trees that towered over the Nords to bright orange and red birch trees. Fin eyed the trees with astonishment, absorbing all the colors around them. Tiljor looked around at the beauty as well, never thinking the Rift was so peaceful, so colorful, noticing that Hedlir's hair was the same color of the trees. Memories came back to Hed, remembering how his family came to Riften when he was a young lad...

A spot of a light blue substance landed on the road in front of them.

"Oh, yuck!" Finrir wailed, taking a few steps back.

Tiljor stared at it, "What type of shit is that?"

Another bolt of baby blueness landed on the road again.

"Mother of Finrir, it's raining goo!" Hedlir joked.

"Mother of _what?" _Fin replied with a sneer.

"Guys... Look," Til pointed to the west.

A large, rather hairy, eight-legged creature crawled towards them, 'goo' dripping from its mouth. Fin froze with fear, staring at the hair on its legs and face. His heart started pounding, his hands quivering.

"Holy - It's one of those fucking Frostbite Spiders!" Hedlir said, taking his bow and placing it in his hand.

Tiljor unsheathed his axe, followed by Finrir. The two kinsmen rushed to the spider as Hedlir steadied his bow, flying arrows into its legs. Fin swung his sword, striking the spider in one of its eyes, making it squeal in a sudden bolt of pain. The spider zapped its legs at the two Nords as one of the arrows from Hedlir's bow stuck out from its back.

"Come on, you hairy son of a bitch!" Finrir called out as he swung his sword at one of the spider's leg, blood pouring from the fresh wound. The adrenaline that rushed through Til and Fin made their heartbeats race, their blood rushing through them.

The spider stopped immediately when Tiljor struck it in the head, cutting the skin as blood poured from its wounds.

The sounds of the Nords' heavy breathing and sighes of relief came over loudly. Staring at the dead spider that made Finrir shiver, the friends sheathed their weapons. Finrir sent a glance at Til as the two returned to the road, their breathing hard. They felt their hearts pound in their chest as they challenged themselves to calm down now that the spider was dead.

"Is everyone alright?" Hedlir asked, eyeing his kinsmen.

"I think my blood pressure is a little high," Fin replied, rubbing his hand through his hair. "Are you alright, Til?" he asked with a gentle voice.

_Finally he called me by my name, _Tiljor thought. He swallowed, and said, his voice trembling, "Yeah... Yeah, I'm fine."

* * *

"I was saying that maybe you and me could hang out when we get back to Windhelm," Finrir said, sitting next to Tiljor on the side of the road.

Til took a bite of his sandwich, along with Fin and Hed. He smirked, not turning to look at his kinsman, "Alright. You can stay at my house."

Fin placed a hand on the brunette's back, feeling the bumpy structure of his spine against his palm. He leaned in closer and said, "I was thinking that maybe you and I could spend a little time in your bedroom..."

"Woah!" Hedlir exclaimed as he swallowed the bite he took of his sandwich he packed. "Damn, Tiljor... Ha, you got an admirer!"

"Finrir..." Til chewed his meal. "I don't think I'd-"

"What's the matter?" the blonde whispered hotly in the brunette's ear, making his stomach turn. "Why can't you just admit that you love me?" he muttered as Til took another bite of his sandwich, trying to ignore his kinsman's voice in his ear that dimmed out all the other sounds.

Tiljor looked at him, staring into Fin's bright olive eyes. He touched the blonde's cheek, sending shivers throughout him. "Maybe I do love you," he smirked. Oh, how he loved playing with his kinsman's emotions...

"Guys...?" Hedlir said, finishing his sandwich. He leaned over to see what was happening with his friends.

"Kiss me, my love," Fin whispered to his love, feeling Til's eyes sting him like a shard of ice through his stomach. Everything around him disappeared as he felt Tiljor's breath on his skin, his heart racing when he touched his love's cheek with gentle fingers.

_Yeah right, _the brunette thought.

Til merely smirked, and left Fin's embrace, much to the blonde's dismay. He shoved the last bite of his sandwich in his mouth, rising up from the ground, rubbing the crumbs off his fingers on his armor. Hedlir followed with Finrir hesitantly standing up, sending a glance to Tiljor, who smiled at the redhead. Fin felt fire on his blood as he noticed the brunette smiling at Hed, sneering at the redhead.

The trio made their way to the fort that was probably fifty feet away from them. The stone was worn down, looking like it put up with more than enough thunderstorms over the years; it stood so proudly against the setting sun that lit up the sky in a light purple that faded into a baby blue. The red and orange trees around them blew gently in the wind, and it all seemed calm, serene, a scene from a book. The atmosphere around them smelled of cinnamon, reminding Hedlir of how his father used to make cinnamon rolls that filled the house with its spice.

"Hey, boys!" one of the bandits from the fort called out. "Get ready for a fight!"

"Are those bandits?" Hedlir asked, pulling out his bow as a precaution.

"Fuck," Fin cursed under his breath. "Damn straight they are."

Tiljor unsheathed his axe, followed by Finrir. Arrows from the archers in the fort pierced the air, striking the ground with a strong force; the three men ran underneath the arch and entered the fort. Immediately, Tiljor and Finrir were welcomed by a pair of bandits.

Finrir felt his heart pound and adrenaline rush through his blood as he swung his sword at one of the bandits, who blocked it with much ease. Feeling his teeth grind against each other, Fin swung his sword again as the bandit circled him with a fierce gaze, cutting the dark skin of the outlaw, blood seeping from the wound.

"Come on, you dumb blonde!" the bandit yelled.

Provoked by the insult, the 'dumb' blonde bolted towards the outlaw, pinning him down to the ground. He clawed the bandit's face, scratching the flesh with his nails. The bandit grabbed Fin's leather armor in an attempt to throw him off his chest; the outlaw yelled out in pain as Fin scratched his face deeply, spots of blood drying themselves within the cuts.

"Shit!"

The familiar voice pierced the air as Fin turned to look at his side, his heart being ripped out as he watched Tiljor kneel to the ground with blood caking on his armor. He pushed his light hair away from his eyes, the bandit pinned to the ground underneath him smirked as he took the opportunity to shove the blonde away from him.

Finrir stumbled, his eyes locked on the bandit who cut his love down. He felt his heart race as he bolted to the bandit before he could strike Til again with his axe. The blonde stabbed him in the gut with his sword, making the outlaw stumble on the ground. Fin kicked the outlaw in the stomach, and pinned him to the ground with his foot to his throat.

"I will die before I let someone hurt the love of my life," the blonde spat harshly to the bandit before he stabbed him in the heart, killing him instantly.

Hedlir ran in with his axe, striking the other bandit in the arm as Finrir ran over to Til, who held onto the wound on his stomach with a firm hand. The brunette's face exposed the pain he was in as Fin held his shoulder, helping him up. The blonde felt his hands shake as he held Tiljor with a gentle, yet strong, hand.

"Hedlir!" Fin called out to the redhead, who blocked a strike from the bandit's sword. "Come on, we have to get out of here!"

Arrows poured down on them as Hedlir ran over to the pair, and held Tiljor by the other shoulder. The brunette felt a stab of pain in his stomach, his limbs becoming shallow and weak as the blood poured on his armor, staining the fabric with a dark red tint. He felt his heartbeat race in his chest as the three of them ran, or perhaps jogged, out of the fort, the arrows from the other bandits raining down from the sky.

The mens' heavy breathing clouded all the other sounds around Til as they laid him gently down on the grass on the side of the road when they were a good distance from the damn fort. Til felt the wound on his stomach stretch as he lied on the grass, the leaves tickling his arms. He looked up to the evening sky and stared into Fin's aghast eyes, feeling his hand on his cheek.

"Hedlir, Hedlir... do something!" Fin said, his voice shaking as he looked at the redhead.

"Hold on," Hed muttered as he pulled out a healing potion from his pack.

The blonde snatched the potion, and held Tiljor's head up, placing the rim of the bottle in his mouth.

From the shadows of the forest, the woman stood. Clad in black robes, she pulled the hood over her face, covering her bright blue eyes as she watched the three Nords from the other side of the river. She kneeled down behind the bush, the wind blowing in her porcelain face; she squinted her eyes to catch a better look of the Nords, smirking as she watched Tiljor drink the potion gradually.

_The plan is going smoothly, _she thought to herself calmly. _Yes... the plan is going very well. _


	17. Tensions Rise

**A/N: Here's chapter seventeen. Once again, I have been teased by writer's block, so this chapter came _very_ slow for me. I haven't been viewing this story in the best light, but I'm still trying to improve the writing in this fanfic. **

**This chapter was supposed to be longer, but I couldn't bring myself to finish it like that. :-/**

**I hope this chapter is okay; chapter eighteen is coming slow as well. I've been working on another story that isn't posted on here, so no, I'm not a very good multi-tasker. :P**

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen**

"Tiljor... Tiljor! My love, are you alright!? Say something!" Finrir bellowed, his eyes wide with uneasiness. He placed his hands on Til's shoulders, shaking him powerfully, his heart aching as the brunette looked up at him with shocked eyes.

"Hold on, give him some space..." Hedlir advised, using his forearm to push Fin away from Til blandly. "Wait a couple minutes. The potion should work."

Tiljor laid on the grass, feeling the fresh wound on his stomach close up and the pain settling down slightly. His hands felt weak, shaking with sudden panic; his arms felt empty, his stomach turning, and his head felt light. He breathed hard, filling his lungs as he released the grip he had on his wound. The brunette brought his hand up to his face, glaring at the dried blood that stained his palm. His heart pounded in his chest, a constant, flat sound like a drum that blurred all the other sounds and voices around him. Til resisted the urge to look to his side and see Fin's eyes; instead, he turned his attention to Hedlir, who obviously sensed Fin's anxiety.

"Darling," Fin muttered as he pressed his cheek on Til's forehead. Hed ignored the urge to either laugh, or give a foul look.

_Please get away from me, _Tiljor's conscience begged as he felt the heat from Fin's skin on his head. The brunette had little—perhaps even no—strength to shove the blonde away from him, although he couldn't deny being hugged actually felt... _gratifying. _

"I'll take care of you, don't worry," the blonde whispered mildly.

_Sweet Talos..._

"Are you feeling alright, Til?" Hedlir asked with a smooth voice, leaning in towards his friend, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Tiljor nodded weakly as Finrir rubbed his hair gently, shivers rushing through him as he felt the blonde's soft fingers on his skin. He listened to the sound of Fin's heartbeat, and, combined with his own, forced him to hear nothing but the flat thumps that engulfed him. Til closed his eyes, the pain from his wound dying down as his mind drifted to Finrir: soft platinum blonde hair, bright olive eyes, his beauti—

_No... Stop thinking like that. _

The brunette shifted uncomfortably as Hed spoke softly, "Is he sleeping?"

He felt Fin remove his cheek from his head, looking down onto his peaceful face. Til felt the blonde's finger rub against his cheekbone as he said, "Looks like he is..."

The voices disappeared, the sounds dimmed out as Til swam into a deep sleep.

* * *

The morning sun hit Til's weary eyes that struggled to lift, burdened by a need to continue resting. The chill in the morning air subsided as a warm, heated feeling crawled on him; he snuggled close to the mild feeling, having no desire to wake up and face the coolness in the atmosphere. A heavy sigh washed over his face, making his nose scrunch up with a sudden bolt of heat. He couldn't remember the last time he felt like this—soothed, wanting to lie on the grass for a lifetime. His eyes opened gradually, everything a faded blur around him, the colors blended together.

Then it all came together, the colors be coming more focused. The bright orange and red trees, the leaves on the ground, the autumn, burnt red grass, the occasional pine tree here and there around him.

_Riften—No, wait—Windhelm..._

_Hidar..._

Tiljor bolted up, startling Finrir, who slept over him, protecting him with his arms, holding him closely. A charge of pain shot him in the stomach as his hand reached to his gut, placing a stiff hold on the source of the pain. He groaned, alarming Hedlir, who kneeled over by the river on the other side of the road. The redhead turned around, and, watching Til hold his stomach in pain, walked over to his friend.

"Don't get up so fast," he said as he wrapped an arm around the brunette, attempting to comfort him.

"Talos," Til muttered as the pain in his gut subsided for a few seconds, yet he kept his hand frozen on the stained armor.

"Tiljor..." Fin said hardly as rose up from the ground, dirt covering his hands. He sat up, rubbing his hand on his leather armor before placing it on Til's shoulder, a hint of anxiety in his eyes as he watched his kinsman swallow down the pain. "Are you alright?" the blonde said, his voice shaking.

Hearing the anguish in his friend's voice, Til gave a weak reply, "Yeah... I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" Fin pressured, leaning in closer to the brunette. "Do you need anything to eat? Are you able to walk? Do you—"

Til chuckled lightly, admiring how burdened Finrir had become over his injury. "Honey..." he said, teasing the blonde, who eyes widened automatically.

_He's so gullible! _Til thought amusingly as he turned to look at Fin, noting how his eyes widened, his breathing becoming thicker, heavier as he stared at him. "I'm fine," Tiljor reassured his friend, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry about me, alright?"

As Finrir was left weakened, his conscience uttering the way Til had called him 'honey' over and over again in his head, Hedlir looked to the brunette, "Can you walk?"

"Yeah," Til said as he rose from the ground, feeling the redhead's gentle hand on his shoulder. The pain in stomach died down as he examined the day-old wound on his skin. The armor had been pierced, easily cut open like the skin of a deer; he ran his fingers smoothly over it, feeling the scab of the deep cut that had healed overnight, that blinded all other feelings other than a sharp pain. He took deep breath of hesitation, releasing his hand away from the wound, the pain no longer terrorizing him.

_Thank the Divines... Looks like that potion worked after all. _

Hed sent a glance to Tiljor, studying him once again. The bags under the brunette's chilling eyes had darkened since the last time he noticed, his skin seemed paler from—he guessed—the shock of his wound. His usual broad structure had become more shallow, more _weaker. _There was an emptiness to him, some sort of lifeless aura sticking to him. It was perhaps something the redhead had anticipated—Tiljor, empty and shallow like a draugr.

"We might as well wake up, eh?" the redhead said without much emotion, his hands on his knees as he rose up from the ground.

Tiljor felt Fin's hand slide against his arm as he stood up reluctantly, a shiver crawling on his spine as Finrir followed him. The brunette sent a foul look to the fort perhaps a mile away, not wanting to recall what had happened yesterday .

It felt unreal to Til as they reassured themselves and made their way down the road. He couldn't bring himself to believe they were actually doing this, yet what his family was thinking—or saying—lingered in the back of his mind as he breathed in the fresh, crisp air.

"How far can this fucking city be!?" Finrir whined, a scowl forcing its way on his lips.

"Maybe just a mile," Hed responded simply, gazing down onto the stonework. "Be patient, Fin."

Hearing his kinsman's low growl, Til turned his head over to the blonde, who had a sour look on his face, showing his distaste for the city they were heading for. No fear teased the brunette that time, despite Fin's imposing height that made him feel like a midget. He remembered how jealous he was when he found out that Fin was two inches taller than him, recalling how he wanted to grow big and strong like his kinsman.

_Gods, I was so stupid... Maybe I'm stupid now._

Tiljor felt a warm wrap around him, glancing at Finrir's arm wrapped around his shoulder. His eyes gazed down toward the road, his face blazing with heat as his breathing became more shallow. He felt the blonde's strength pull him away from Hedlir, much to his underlying dismay. The redhead pretended not to notice, but he had glanced over more than he wanted to.

"You two hugging over there?" Hed said sarcastically, arching a brow at the two.

Til felt the flesh on his face get hotter as Fin replied, "Of course not... I'm just helping him walk."

"I can walk fine, thank you very much," the brunette said icily as he pushed his kinsman's arm away from him.

"I'm telling you, Fin, this guy has a steel ass!" Hedlir joked fully, patting Til's shoulder, making him chuckle quietly.

"More like a steel stomach," Tiljor muttered under his breath, feeling an aura of comfort when the redhead placed his hand on his shoulder.

Finrir watched Hed's hand with heated eyes, scrunching up his nose several times. The way Tiljor had smiled at the fiery redhead made something burn within him, something strong enough to make his blood boil within seconds. It was an alien and foul feeling; his heart felt as if someone was toying with it, playing with it until it exploded into an all-out rage. It could've been save to say Tiljor _was _in fact his heart, or perhaps a very large piece of it.

"Stop it!" the blonde snapped, snatching Hed's hand in a rapid movement, pushing it away with a blind outburst. "Get away from him!"

"Hey, hey," the redhead said rather calmly, backing away. "Calm down..."

"Finrir..." Tiljor whined softly as he stared at the blonde with annoyed eyes.

"I don't want him touching you," Fin whispered stormily, a stab of qualm pestering Til as he looked into the monstrous emotion hidden within his olive eyes. "No , not even," he continued, his voice striking the brunette in a way he couldn't discover. "I don't want him _looking _at you, I don't want him _talking _to you, I don't want him _think—"_

"Alright, alright..." Tiljor finally said rather shabbily, disappointed in the weakness of his voice. "Calm down, everything is fine—"

"Everything is not alright!" Finrir yelled, unnecessarily loud. "This is fucking bullshit!"

As the blonde threw his hands in the air, Hed stopped in his tracks, his eyes widened at the sound of Fin's yell. Tiljor looked at his kinsman with a rather shocked face, watching as Finrir gazed at him with a fiery look in his eyes. His skin paled, his nails dug into his palms, and he scrunched up his nose; the brunette spotted the signs that Fin was either extremely agitated or about to fall into a pit of boiling rage.

_Or maybe he's losing his mind, _Til's conscience spoke loudly.

"What's the matter?" Hedlir said without much emotion as he stood next to Tiljor, sending a glance at him.

"Nothing," Til mumbled to him, his eyes locked on the blonde. "I told you he's gone crazy."

"Aye," the redhead replied quietly.

"What the _fuck _are you two whispering about!?" Finrir yelled at the top of his lungs, a glare being sent to the redhead.

Hedlir glanced at Til before saying, "Fin, we're not—"

"You son of a bitch!" the blonde yelled as he lunged at Hed, clawing him in the face with his nails.

Tiljor froze in either shock or plain fear as Fin shoved the redhead onto the road and started clawing him in the face, an ear-piercing yell coming from Hed as his eyes watered from the stings. Hedlir placed his hands on Fin's chest in an attempt to push his kinsman off of him, all ineffectively. He felt his heart throb against his rib cage as he looked up at Fin, a savage look in his eyes, his breathing becoming emphasized as it passed through his teeth.

"You won't have him, he's _mine!"_ Finrir yelled as he punched and scratched the redhead—who apparently was supposed to be his kinsman, his brother.

Til knew he had to do something; Fin was much larger, much _stronger _than Hed, and the little voice in his head knew that if he didn't do something now, the blonde would tear Hedlir to pieces mercilessly. But there was no time to think. He rushed over to the perpetrating blonde, burying his building fear to grab onto Fin's shoulders, trying to push him off of Hed.

"Get him off me!" Hedlir cried out, shoving and kicking underneath the blonde. His blood pulsed rapidly through him as he saw Tiljor's bony hands on Fin's shoulders.

Til took a deep breath and pulled the hot-headed blonde away from the redhead, shoving him onto the road. Finrir stumbled up, his vivid eyes locked on Hedlir, who sat up and breathed deeply through his lungs. His face was painted with red scratches here and there, crossing over his temples and down to his mouth, yet his face was emotionless. Tiljor knew he could see—perhaps even feel—the terror in those angelic eyes.

Hedlir swallowed hard before he said, "No hard feelings, Fin. I know you're not feeling too well."

Finrir seethed at the redhead's attempt to lighten the tension, "Yeah, I meant it, you fucker!"

"You're just upset," Hed spoke as he pushed his hair away from his eyes, rubbing his hands on his armor as he got up. "It's ok, though. You can always use me as a punching bag."

_You shouldn't have said that, Heddy..._

"Fin," Til muttered as he steadied his hand on the blonde's shoulder, looking at him with rather crestfallen eyes. "'The fuck is wrong with you?"

The blonde said nothing, but instead stared at him with a gaze filled with steel. His face was as red as a tomato, something Tiljor hadn't seen in a long while. The sun shone down on his ivory skin, giving him a rather pretty looking glow. His darkened eyes had a slight sparkle within them, almost as if there was some sort of happiness underneath his sudden rage. But, Til didn't even know if Finrir could even experience basic _happiness, _and that was... just sad.

"Tiljor?" Fin said, arching a brow at his kinsman.

He didn't even notice he was staring at the blonde emotionlessly. The brunette shook his head and said under his breath, "Nothing."

_Don't deny it. Finrir is beautiful, isn't he?_

Til shivered in disgust, cursing his conscience for even saying something like that. He couldn't completely deny it—Finrir _was _handsome, but not anything that would attract him or think anything special of the blonde. It was... unnatural for him to think something like that.

"Now," Hedlir said, a hint of joy in his voice. "Let's move on, shall we?"

Surprised at Hed's sudden happiness, Til replied, "Yeah... Let's go."

* * *

"Mother of Finrir, where in Oblivion is my lunch!?" Hedlir complained as he fumbled with his pack, his hands reaching everything else except his beloved sandwich.

"Will you stop saying that?" Fin begged rather brazenly, taking a bite of his fish sandwich as he sat on the side of the road.

Tiljor merely laughed, swallowing down his meal. "Why don't you just take a dip in the river and catch a fish?" he joked, trying to hold back a smirk.

Hed gave an unimpressed face, his hair falling down onto his eyes that sparkled in the midday sunlight. "Thanks for the suggestion," he sneered nastily. "But I don't think so," he said as he sat down next to Finrir, picking a piece of the blonde's sandwich and plucking it in his mouth. A smile appeared on his lips as he chewed with much satisfaction, "Nice!"

"What the fuck was that!?" Finny wailed, giving a foul glare to the redhead. "I'm not giving you my sand—"

"Fine, then Tilly can share his sandwich with me," Hed declared, crossing his arms as if he was a child who wasn't given what he wanted.

Til looked up as he took a deep bite of his meal, locking eyes with the blonde, who glanced over at him.

"What, no, no, no!" Finrir said hastily. "Fine, fine, _here," _he spat as he ripped off another piece of his sandwich, to which Hedlir squealed in delight as he grabbed a hold of the bread and chewed it.

The brunette rolled his eyes playfully, licking his lips to gather the crumbs left behind. He watched his kinsman rip off pieces of bread with an irritable sigh, smiling at Hedlir's bright expression as he wolfed down Fin's lunch. Til rubbed his hands together as the breeze hit his face, welcoming the cool wash over his flesh. His eyes gazed over to Finrir, who was looking at him with rather gentle eyes.

_Alright, don't be rude. Just smile, Til. _

Listening to the voice inside his head, he gave a faint smile to his kinsman, who returned it with much ease. He felt a bolt in his stomach, a bolt of awkwardness concocted inside him, as the blonde placed his hand on his own. The brunette looked at his hand as Finrir rubbed his hand on his skin, feeling the warmness pass through him.

"You're so beautiful," the blonde muttered in a smooth voice.

"By the gods!" the words escaped Til's mouth as he threw his hands in the air, bolting up.

"Woah," Hedlir said, his voice shaky. "What's going on now?"

Tiljor cursed himself silently for reacting the way he did, not daring to glance into Fin's eyes that had a hint of disturbance in them. Hedlir glanced over to the two Nords with widened eyes—once again, he had no idea what was going on between the blonde and the brunette.

_"I'll take care of you, don't worry."_

_"You're so beautiful."_

_"You won't have him, he's mine!"_

It came back to him. The words Fin had said struck him like a lightning bolt, exasperating him as he thought about it. He clenched his fists at his traitorous mind, his stomach turning as he stood before his friends. There was no sense of comfort as he pondered why Finrir was doing this to him—torturing him, pestering him until it was unbearable. It was a strong doubt that the blonde even really cared about him, _loved _him like he always said. It was painful.

"Til, wait," Finrir said as he rose up, walking over to his kinsman. "What's the matter?"

The brunette sighed deeply as the blonde towered over him like a mountain, forcing himself to back down in front of such strength. "Nothing," he muttered. "I just... got a little carried away, that's all."

Noticing his brother's suddenly somber atmosphere, he chuckled lightly and smiled, "It's alright. Everyone has those moments, darling."

"What the fuck is going on? Nobody tells me anything anymore," Hed complained as he approached his two kinsmen, his brow coming together.

"Do you want to continue?" Finrir said plainly, glancing over at the redhead. "I want to get to this hellhole of a city, and get out as soon as possible."

Tiljor took a deep breath, pushing back his thoughts to the back of his mind. "Alright," he finally said after a few moments of lingering silence. "Let's go then..."

The trio reassured themselves, gathering their emotions before they hit the road again. Til felt himself walk uneasily, every step he was taking feeling unreal and difficult. His eyes forced themselves onto the road, not wanting to look up or glance over to his kinsmen. He tightened his grip around the hilt of his axe as his heart felt like it was a weight inside of him, yet he couldn't tell why it felt like that. He was full, but he felt empty inside as if he was nothing but skin and bone.

Finrir felt differently. He scrunched his nose as the word 'Riften' echoed in his mind, remembering the burden his mama carried with her for so long because of _him. _Although he knew it was time to face _him, _but it was more of a fight-or-flight situation to him more than anything. His heart burned with fury as he recalled how he stayed up late for two weeks waiting for _him _to come home.

_He thinks he got away, _the blonde said as his blood boiled. _I'll remind him who he forgot. _

* * *

"Where are our sons!?" Kiva begged, her voice straining as her mind rushed with the worst of scenarios. Her eyes were wide, light bags underneath them as if she hadn't slept in days.

"Please, calm down," Galmar said in the most gentle voice he could find. "Now, what are their names?"

Kiva pushed her chocolate hair behind her hair as she swallowed hard, her hands shaking, "Tiljor... Tiljor Cat-Fang."

"Finrir Fire-Heart," Neola squeaked as she hugged herself. "Our sons... they were friends."

"Aye, I remember them now," the old warrior spoke as he placed a hand underneath his chin. "I'll ask Ulfric if we can spare some guards to look for them, don't worry."

Galmar looked into the womens' eyes, memories stricking back to him. He knew how they felt, he _experienced _what they were feeling—the fear, the panic, the _waiting. _The old man recalled the big blue eyes and the precious little smile, the sudden alarm his heart gathered that morning when she wasn't in her crib. Then the news came—she was taken, killed at someone's cold discretion. There was no feeling he could describe, no feeling that could replace the blow. He knew how those women felt.

He placed a hand on Kiva's trembling shoulder, and whispered softly, "I'm sorry. We'll try our best, I promise."

Bowing his head to the women in respect, he walked out of the throne room and made his way to Ulfric's quarters. Kiva looked at her old friend, curling her lips as she examined the same fear in those hazel eyes. She went over to Neola, whose hand was picking at her lip in a nervous habit, and embraced her in a hug. It was safe to say their boys were their world, what they lived for. Although their hearts felt torn out, beating within a stranger's hand, they could only push away the worst of situations from their minds and hope for the best.

"Ulfric..." Galmar peeped as he poked his head into the door of the King's quarters.

"Yes, Galmar?" Ulfric replied as he looked up from his parchment on his desk.

"We've got a problem," the old man said as he walked over to the King, who tapped his quill against the inkwell. "You know Tiljor and Finrir? The guards?"

The King looked up from his paper, his brow coming together and his eyes squinting in consideration. "Yes," he said slowly. "I've heard of them. You mean the blonde and the brunette?"

"Yeah, the two friends," Galmar assured him, placing a hand on the corner of the desk. He glanced down at the half-written parchment before saying, "They're missing. Their mothers are here, saying they haven't been home in three days."

"So, they're gone?" the King said rather plainly.

"Exactly. We have to look for them."

"Galmar, our guardsmen are stretched thin looking for Hidar. We can't—"

"Ulfric. These are parents just like you. They're going through the same shit," the old warrior pressured, pointing his finger at the King, who stared at him with a gaze filled with steel.

Ulfric sighed, and dropped his quill on the parchment. He arched a brow before declaring, "Fine. We'll send our guards out there to look for them."

Galmar nodded his head, that morning replaying in his head. There was no other more frightening punishment, no other feeling to replace the worry. His beautiful little Kjerli was gone, but Tiljor and Finrir weren't confirmed dead just yet. This couldn't happen again, those boys couldn't get hurt. Those women couldn't go through what he went through that cursed morning.

_I'll be cursed if that happens to those women, _Galmar thought heavily. _Ulfric is going to look for those boys... Don't think I forgot about you, Kjerli. _


	18. Surprises, Surprises

**A/N: Why hello there! So nice to see you again! **

**Anyway, writer's block has been a bad bitch, and in all honesty, this chapter was painful for me to write. I got horribly sick all last week (due to my own stupidity), so I don't think this chapter ended up as great as I wanted it to be. This chapter didn't progress for an entire week because I wasn't feeling too good. :P**

**I hope you like this chapter, I tried my best. Enjoy, and make sure to send a birthday wish to King Ulfric! ;-)**

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen**

A blanket of night had begun to pour over them when they reached the town of Riften; there was a dark, malevolent aura surrounding the city, or at least in Finrir's mind there was. There were no birds chirping, no river swooshing gently from side to side, no breeze blowing in the trees, no nothing. It was an empty setting_—_lifeless, deserted as if it was a ghost of its former self, which it was.

"That piece of shit is Riften!?" Fin said, almost in disbelief that something so worn-down and built with scraped wood and stone was a city. He arched a brow in consideration, musing at the dark banners that hung down from the towering walls of the town.

"Yeah... Shocking, ain't it?" Til replied with a smile as he scanned the gate of the town, feeling the guards' serious eyes on him. "I always pictured it to be fancy-looking with big towers."

"I wonder why he picked this city though," the blonde muttered under his breath, his eyes squinting as his heart pounded in his chest. He tightened the grip on his sword, his knuckles turning white with either fury or fear. Memories came back to him—the time he first swung a sword, how he stayed up late sobbing on Tiljor's shoulder, recalling how he asked his mama numerous times when _he_ was coming back home.

"Halt," the guard at the gate said firmly, pausing them with a rise of his hand. "You have to pay a tax if you want to enter the city. Three hundred gold."

The trio exchanged glances, Tiljor arching a brow and Hedlir placing his hands on his hips. Finrir scrunched up his nose as he eyed the two guards that stared emotionlessly at them underneath their helmets. A gust of wind blew in their faces as a sudden silence crept up onto them.

"Get the fuck out of our way," the blonde hissed, pointing his finger at the guard. "We're_ in_ a _hurry," _he spoke loudly, the guard standing perfectly still with his arms crossed heavily across his chest.

"Fin," Til said in an attempt to calm him down, placing his hand on his shoulder. He then turned his gaze to the guard, "I'm sorry for him... Look, we'll pay it."

"What!?" Finrir sneered, cocking his head at the brunette's decision. "We might as well kick their asses for Talos' sake!"

The brunette motioned his hand to quiet Fin, who resisted the urge to snap at the guards as he looked at Til with blaring eyes. Tiljor looked over to Hed as he pulled out a small pouch that jiggled with gold. The redhead handed the pouch to the guard with a gentle hand, making a small flame flicker within Finrir. The guard snickered, snatching the pouch before smirking underneath his helmet, "Fine. Open the gate for 'em."

The silent guard standing on the other side of the gate gripped the iron handle and shoved the door open, the wood creating curved lines in the dirt. Finny gave a foul look at the guards as they made their way into Riften. It was what Hedlir remembered—wooden, run-down, theives and strange people hiding in every corner. It was ridiculous, or at least to Finrir it was, and he found himself double-checking everyone that passed them by. Til had avoided returning anyone's stares or glances, an underlying disgust for the very city they were examining boiling in his stomach. The air was rusty and stale like an old piece of bread, rather unappealing to the trio's tastes.

"Tiber's bloody sword," Hed spoke, placing the back of his hand on his nose. "How can anybody live in this shit-hole?" he asked, musing at the fact that _anyone _could stand that awful place.

_Seems like the type of place he would choose, _Fin thought.

"A lot of people, it seems," Tiljor joked, feeling a smile form on his lips. He looked over to the redhead, who placed a nasty gaze on his face. "Anyway, what now?"

"Wait," the redhead said, stopping all three of them in their tracks. "Look," he spoke as he pointed to a torn paper on the wall.

They walked over to it, Til's eyes squinting at the boldly written letters on the piece of ripped parchment. A picture was inked on it—a man with rough shoulder length hair, paired with serious, yet gentle, eyes. His beard was drawn on rather poorly, lines of ink strewn across the paper without a care in the world. It was weightless in Hed's hands as he ripped off the paper from the wall.

"It looks like Ulfric," Finrir thought aloud, peering at the man on the parchment. He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably, "Come on. We have better things to do then look at fucked-up papers."

"I think that's who we're looking for," Hedlir said, glancing up at Til. "Yeah, see," he said as he pointed to a line of words underneath the picture. "It's Hidar. Now we have a better idea of what he looks like, don't we?"

"Great. Let's get to the inn before I hurl at the stench," the blonde sneered, avoiding the topic of the paper that Hedlir looked at before folding it into a small square. Fin's hand absentmindedly played with the tight leather straps on his armor, the high walls of the houses around them closing in on him. His pure olive irises jumped from person to person, item to item without a second thought. This was the type of place he despised_—_dirty, rotten, filled with thugs and elves on the streets.

They made their way to the inn, speed-walking with much haste. Opening the door, they were comforted by the sight of their fellow Nords getting drunk on the ice cold mead and other grumpy fellows just leaning against the wall, eyeing the crowd with heated eyes. The barmaids hurried from customer to customer, balancing ale on their plates with a type of aching tiredness in their eyes. Laughter filled their ears from the Nords, and Dunmer, playing cards and winning arm wrestles.

"We might as well get a room then," Hed suggested quietly, shoving his oily hair behind his ear.

"Fine," Tiljor agreed, shrugging as he looked over to Fin, who looked like a deer caught in a hunter's hungry grasp. "Let's talk to the lady behind the counter."

Following Til's lead, they elbowed their way through more than enough of the patrons. They ignored the stares and glances they received, although Finny sent one or two nasty glares at the strangers, once again finding himself double-checking everyone to make sure it wasn't... _him._

They walked over to the Argonian woman who grabbed a jug of mead for a customer. She placed what looked like a smile to the tired and pale trio, grabbing her cloth to dry off her scaly hands.

"Evening fellas," she said, her voice rough and shallow. "What can I do for ya?"

They exchanged glances between each other before Finrir rolled his eyes and spoke, "We need a room, and fast."

The Argonian placed her hand underneath her chin for a moment, her eyes narrowing. "I think I have two rooms available; it doesn't look like you three could share a room all bunched up... Twenty gold and its yours for the night."

Hedlir gave a cool grin as he grabbed a handful of gold from the pouch he kept in his pocket. He mouthed the words of the numbers as he counted to twenty, moving the gold pieces to the other side of his palm. The redhead placed the gold pieces on the counter, a loud ring of noise evolving against the chatter and laughter of the other patrons.

After she dropped the gold within a half-full jar of money, the Argonian looked up at them and smiled wryly, "Here, boys. I'll show you to your rooms."

The rooms were small with only one bed in each of them, and Til knew that _someone _had to sleep on the floor. It was brightly lit with several candles, the dresser was tucked in the corner of the room, and a small table with a chair sat soundlessly at the edge of each of the beds. In much honesty, the brunette couldn't remember the last time he saw an actual bed and even if he did, it was all fuzzy and blurry from time.

"Two of us are gonna have to share a room," Hedlir reminded them as the Argonian made her way back to the bustling business downstairs.

"Alright," Tiljor shrugged. "We might as well pick one, eh?"

"Aye. I'll take this one, on the left," the redhead said, pointing to the room in front of him. The light from the candles sparkled in his dark eyes, giving off a perhaps vivid glow. He made his way inside the room before calling out to his kinsman, "Night-night! Don't let the Riften theives bite!"

Tilly chuckled lightheartedly, placing his axe steadily on the end table in the next room. Sighing, he double-checked the wound on his stomach, looking over the small stain of caked blood that surrounded the hit area. He took a deep breath, trying to believe they were actually here in Riften, and not in Windhelm. It was an uphill task to picture how his mother was reacting to the three of them not being in the city; it was something he didn't—_couldn't_—picture.

The loud closing of the door and a hand brushing up against his back dragged him back into reality with a shiver crawling on his skin. Instinctively, he looked up, his eyes immediately locking onto Fin's green ones.

_Oh shit, _he panicked. _Oh shitshitshitshit__—_

"Hello my love," the blonde said, a thin smile forming on his lips.

"Why can't you just share a room with Hedlir?" Til spat out shakily, not even thinking twice about what he was saying.

Arching a brow with a stern gaze, Fin spoke, "You want that redhead dead?"

The brunette paused for a moment, taken aback by the harsh tone of his friend. "I..." he muttered. "I mean, what are you talking about?"

"Unless you want that bastard dead, I'm staying here for the night," his kinsman replied strongly, walking over to the chest. Til's eyes followed him with a sudden jab of terror as he placed the sheath of his sword inside the wooden chest, every sound becoming magnified.

"I-I can just talk to the lady again and get you a third room," the brunette shivered weakly, feeling his hands shake uncontrollably once again. "So, you know, you can have your own seperate place and_—_"

"Why are you suddenly so determined to push me away!?" Finrir boomed, taking heavy steps as he walked over to his kinsman. The darkness in his eyes, and his towering height, made Til look up at him as if he was a rabbit cornered by a fierce wolf.

"I'm not determined to do _anything," _the brunette panicked, backing away several centimeters with his feet. "I just don't_—_"

"Don't what?" Fin pressed, grabbing a hold on his kinsman's bicep, clutching it tightly. He listened to Til's soft whimper before continuing, "I swear by the Divines, I will _not _let that _bastard redhead _take the love of _my _life away from me!"

"Let go of me!" Tiljor howled, squirming to get Fin's death-grip off his arm. "I don't give a fuck what I am to you, just let me_—_"

He was silenced by the roughness of the blonde's lips pressing against his own, making him skew uncomfortably in his kinsman's embrace. He felt the smooth, wet surface of Finrir's tongue compress against his teeth, exploring every part of his mouth. Til groaned in either fear or antipathy as Fin slid his tongue over his own, making him freeze with some sort of unknown feeling boiling in his stomach. It was a cross between a love and a hate for that man, and Til wasn't sure which one he should've chosen in that moment.

Finrir couldn't contain himself as always, and compelled his kinsman to the bed. Held against what he wanted to do, Til tried to keep his cool as he listened to the deep moan Fin let out, kissing him asperously again. The brunette felt another shiver clamber on him as he felt the tickle of his kinsman's lips on his neck. He reluctantly placed his shaking hands on Fin's sides, feeling out the structure of his rough leather armor.

_Gods help me, please, please, please! _Til's conscience begged.

"It's been ten years since I fell in love with you," the blonde whispered, hovering over the brunette. He placed the palm of his hand on Til's cheek, rubbing his thumb on the cheekbone gently. "I've never loved anyone so much..." he continued, smoothly biting his kinsman's earlobe.

Tiljor squirmed awkwardly underneath the blonde's heavy body, "Ten years... so since we were sixteen?"

As he kicked the floor with his foot, he heard Finrir reply, "Aye. I couldn't stop thinking about you, you perfect, _beautiful _man. I think it's time we get to know each other better."

"Wait, _what!?"_ Til said, his eyes widening as his kinsman rose up so he was standing over him with a gleeful darkness in his eyes. The brunette had begun to rise up until the blonde shoved him back down again, "Finrir... Wait, I don't think_—_"

"Nonsense," Fin laughed. "Just relax, my sweet. Don't you want this?"

Tiljor said nothing as Fin had begun to undo the leather straps on his armor.

* * *

Galmar stood over the white-iced cake, double-checking the perfectly placed blue icing that circled the rim of it. Glancing at the clock, he looked over his shoulder to find Jorleif counting out the wax candles on the other side of the dining table. It was already seven-thirty in the evening, and they had spent almost the entire day planning out how this was going to go. They used the guards as a distraction so they could set this up, so it _had _to be perfect.

"Jorleif," Galmar said, breaking the ice between the two. "Just add five candles for every ten years_—_makes our lives easier."

"Damnit, I already counted thirty-four," the steward huffed, glancing at the cake. "I don't think fifty-two candles can fit on that thing anyway."

"You'd be shitting bricks if you think it would," the old man replied with a smirk, tapping his fingers against the wood absentmindedly. "We better hurry up though; the guards can't distract him for much longer."

From the eves of the hallway, they heard the deep, echoing voice of the King. The two men and the party guests exchanged pale stares before Galmar reached over and snatched five candles from Jorleif, planting them inside the cake. The clans of Cruel-Sea and Shatter-Shield helped with the decorations, wrapping up the presents with a dark blue parchment, decorated with a silver bow made from fabric as a last touch. Sifnar placed a platter of caramel dumplings on the table, the King's favorite treat, and took one last look at the food and wine to make sure he had cooked everything he needed to.

Everyone took a deep breath with little Grimvar lighting the candles with his father's helping hand. Everyone stood in place around the table, facing the war room as the footsteps became louder and the King's voice became more apparent. The guard they used as a distraction opened the door to the throne room, and as soon as the King stepped out with his brow together in confusion to the scene in front of him, everyone reacted.

"Happy birthday!" the small crowd of people shouted, some raising their arms, and some with wide smiles on their faces. Ulfric merely replied with a sudden smile on his face, accompanied with a nervous laugh.

Walking over to the decorated table, the King smiled, "Galmar! Jorleif! You did this?"

"Aye," his right-hand man replied for the two of them. "Took us forever, you better like it!" he teased.

Grimvar ran up to Ulfric, grabbing his attention. "Sir," he squeaked, taking in mind what his father had told him: be polite, and cordial. "We baked you a cake, a-and Galmar said to sing you happy birthday."

"Did he now, boy?" the King said warmly, patting the boy's shoulder, not trying to scare him. Glancing up to see a shrugging Galmar, Ulfric chuckled, "Now, where's this cake?"

"Over here sir," Grimvar smiled, grabbing hold of the King's hand and leading him over to the table. Eyeing the lit white cake, the party guests had begun to sing and clap along:

_Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Ulfric, happy birthday to you!_

Ulfric blew out the candles, a gust of light smoke evaporating in the air. The party guests gave a light cheer, and they had to begun to party in the name of their beloved king. Sifnar pulled out silver plates as Galmar cut the cake, revealing the cooked golden batter within, with the first piece given to the birthday boy. The bottle of wine was popped open for the guests, laughter and chatter filling the air around them. Galmar and Ulfric stood together, laughing and joking just like the old days. The old man felt good knowing that the King was able to take his mind off of more pressing matters, if only for a day.

* * *

Finrir rested his head across Til's chest, a warm atmosphere embracing him as he snuggled closely to his kinsman. A small smile crawled onto his lips as he planted a kiss on Tiljor's skin, listening to the beat of his heart within his flesh. Tiljor did nothing but stare at the ceiling, feeling the tickle of Fin's hand rubbing on his stomach. The brunette took in what he had just done_—sleeping _with someone whom he knew his entire life, someone who he _thought _wasn't his friend anymore. The night seemed to have last a lifetime with the touching, the kissing, the whispering.

"Tiljor," Fin whispered, glancing up at his paralyzed brother. "Do me a favor, love," he spoke, circling his finger on Til's chest.

"What?" the Nord said weakly, placing a hand on his kinsman's head, playing with the soft, white-blonde hair with his fingers.

"Tell me you love me," the blonde requested mildly with a smirk.

Til paused, taking a deep breath in. He tightened his free hand into a fist, digging his nails into his palm before saying, "I can't say that."

Finrir looked up, his brow coming together as he glared at his kinsman. Tiljor wanted nothing more than to avoid the question, so he merely rose up from the bed before he heard the blonde's voice again, "Why can't you? I know you love me, Tiljor."

The brunette said nothing, but placed his feet on the floor and walked over to his armor. "I never said I did," he said coolly, picking up his armor from the floor. He glanced over at Fin, who glared at him fiercely with a flame flickering in his eyes. Sighing, Til placed the light weight of the armor on his body, adjusting the leather straps to a tight level.

"Then what was this_—_what we just did?" the blonde pressured, eyeing his brother. "I'm not a one-night stand to you, am I?" he asked, a type of underlying harshness in his voice.

Tiljor couldn't help but chuckle, shifting himself within his armor to try and make it more comfortable. "No, you're not," he spoke, snatching his boots with impatient hands. "Just, I'm not sure if I... _love _you," the word had sounded forbidden on his tongue as he rubbed his temples in a rising frustration.

The awkwardness in the air was overwhelming, even to Til. It was a type of feeling he had never experienced, that never bothered to grab a hold on him and play with him as if he was a toy. _Love_—it was a word that made him immediately refer to his kinsman, to _Finrir _of all people. Yet over time, he had grown to become something more than just a man to the blonde, something more like an actual treasure, a piece that couldn't be touched for fear of messing it up.

Buried in his thoughts, Til heard a loud knock blow on the door.

"You assholes up yet?" Hedlir yawned, scratching his head. His eyes were darkened with light bags, and his cheeks were tinted with a soft pink. His hair was mangled, bright strands of red infused together messily. He glanced over at Tiljor, who sat on the floor to put his boots on, and then to Finrir, who had laid back in bed, snuggling close to the pillow and furs.

Til sent a silent thank you to Talos for bringing Hed in at just the right moment before replying to his question, a burden being lifted from him, "We're up, Hed... You look like shit."

The redhead walked towards his friend, placing his hands on his hips with a hefty laugh. "How is it that when _I _wake up, I look like crap, but when _you _wake up, you look absolutely perfect?" he joked as Til rose up when his boots were on.

"Magic. I'm just that good-looking," the brunette winked, smiling. He glanced over his shoulder to examine Fin with his eyes closed on the bed, something within him saying that the blonde was sleeping.

"Is Finny sleeping?" Hed asked softly, leaning in towards Til.

"Looks like it," the brunette replied, grinning widely.

"You're not leaving without me, idiots," Finrir moaned, stretching out his exposed arms. His hair was a hot mess over his face as he pulled up the furs over his shoulders, an embrace of warmth hitting him automatically.

"No... no we're not," Tiljor said awkwardly, feeling his chest tighten at the sound of Fin's voice. "We're not going to leave you here, Fin."

_"Good," _the blonde sneered. "Now get out," he commanded as he pointed his finger at the open door. He rose up from the bed, grabbing the fur to cover his chest in a defensive manner.

Hed rolled his eyes and smiled at Til, "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever."

Til and the redhead made their way outside the door, reluctantly obeying mighty Finrir's request. The loud sounds of chatter and laughter from the night prior were long gone, replaced by the steady sounds of footsteps and the rough voices of the Argonian owners. The two men placed their backs up against the wall, arms crossed over their chests as a silence took over, no more than mere glances were exchanged.

"Have you ever noticed Fin's hairstyle?" the redhead said, perhaps unreasonably loud.

"What about it?" Til arched a brow, puzzled at his friend's attempt at smalltalk.

"Just... it's rather _girly, _no?" Hed chuckled, looking up at his kinsman who stood like a statue next to him.

"I can hear you!" Finrir yelled out from the room, his voice ringing in Tiljor's ears.

Moments later, the blonde came out fully dressed and ready to go. Til had immediately looked down towards the floor, avoiding to look Fin in the eye once again.

_Nope, _he thought. _Nothing happened last night, absolutely nothing. _

His means of denying reality were cut short when Hed asked, "Are we leaving this damn hellhole or what?"

"No," Finrir answered, prompting an even more bewildered stare from Til. "I have to find someone," he continued, being rather vague, the brunette had noted mentally.

Til did nothing but shrug when his Nordic friends looked at him, "Alright, Fin. If you want."

The trio made their way out of the inn, the smell of strong ale and cinnamon leaving their airways, replaced by a gentle breeze underneath a blanket of baby blue. A mixture of stale-gray Dunmer and ivory Nord filled the streets before them, some shopping in the market district, some smithing away at their weapons, and some having nothing better to do than to lean against the wall. A small flame was lit within Fin as he scanned everyone that passed them by, the Nords with light brown hair catching his attention, a bolt of sudden panic arousing in him when he saw one.

"Who exactly are you looking for, Fin?" Hedlir asked dubiously, glancing at the focused blonde who squinted at the wooden houses on the other side of town.

_'The house closest to the Temple', _Fin's conscience recalled.

With a swift movement, the blonde rushed towards the house next to the Temple of Mara that was decorated with flowers. Til and Hed glanced at each other before chasing after him, calling out his name with no answer. The worst of scenarios entered Tiljor's mind, his gut telling him that _something_ was bound to happen. Stares were given to the three running men, although they had given it no mind.

Swallowing hard, Finrir stopped himself when he reached the door. His heart had pounded within his chest when his kinsmen reached up with him, panting like wild dogs along with some confused looks. Before Til could stop him to question him about what he was doing, the blonde knocked on the door with a shaky hand.

Tiljor was silenced by the wait, the opening of the door playing in his head. He knew exactly who was going to answer, and something within him knew this was probably going to end badly. Either with a heated argument or having the door shut in Fin's face, there was no type of escape in this manner.

"Hello?" a voice squeaked as the door opened. Til's heart gave a leap towards his throat, the voice echoing in the back of his mind.

"Come out so I can see you!" Finrir demanded strongly, clearing a thick lump in his throat.

Scowling, a woman came out—small, with the blackest hair Til had ever laid eyes on, and a Breton no less. She held onto her tattered dark green clothes as she stepped outside, certainly not what Tiljor, or Fin, had been expecting. She had the eyes of a wolf that was ready to pounce, paired with sharp and chiseled features. The Breton seemed like the type of woman who was blunt, ready for action, or at least that was what she had appeared to be.

"Can I help you?" she asked bluntly, looking up at Finrir, who stared down at her as if she was a piece of rotten meat.

"Where is he!?" the blonde growled, his hands turning into fists from either the unexpected Breton or her midget-like height.

"Who?" she had snickered, the flame growing in Finrir with the sharp sound of her voice in the air.

"You know who, _Telji," _Finrir spat his name like it was something no man should ever have to say. Tiljor had not heard that name for eleven years; the last time he had heard it was from Finrir plotted in a boiling rage.

"You mean my husband?" the Breton sneered, her scowl deepening. "He's in—"

"Wait," Fin stopped her with a raised hand. "Your... Your _husband?"_

She cocked a brow, "Yes, my _husband. _He got thrown in jail a month ago."

Something hit Finrir, however he wasn't sure what it was; a type of panic, a blow to the heart perhaps. Tiljor had remained silent, still feeling the ghosts of Fin's kisses upon his flesh, whereas Hedlir had no clue what it all meant. The two stitched their mouths shut as they stood behind their kinsman, who looked down towards the Breton with a sudden interest.

"So..." Fin had said, more quietly than before, almost a whisper. "You're Myrla?"

"Y-Yes, I'm Myrla," the woman assured, crossing her arms against her small chest. "Look, if you want to find him, you might as well head to the jail. That's all I can tell you."

The blonde tightened his grip around his sword, swallowing before he said like a tiny ray of sunshine in a thunderstorm, "Fine. Thanks anyway."

Surprised at Fin's politeness, Til looked up at his kinsman for the first time since last night. He seemed pale, a ghost of the man he usually was, as if someone had punched him in the stomach. He suddenly became quieter, less lively. The fire in his eyes had dimmed, his heart rate slowing to an almost lifeless beat. The blonde had turned around, leaving Myrla to watch him walk away with the redhead and the brunette following him.

"She was quite the bitch, wasn't she?" Hedlir said, turning around to find the Breton woman shutting the door behind her to return to her household duties.

"Aye," Til agreed. "She looked like a troll stuck inside a Breton's body."

Finrir had felt his eyes burn with such emotion, he was afraid to burst into tears in public. Something within him wanted him to scream and yell at Myrla, to punch and kick without any hesitation. The flame that flickered in him, the flame he was born with, had continued to grow with immense power.

The door to the jail was dark, dirty, and dusty. A spider had hung from its web on the wall, and the iron they used for the door itself was aging, revealing a rough structure within it. It had almost made the three men glad they weren't guards in Riften: the theives and thugs, the drama of the Theives' Guild, and the shady citizens didn't light up the atmosphere that burdened the town.

With a deep breath, Fin placed his weak hand on the door, pushing it open with much ease. The brightly lit, and rather clean, office had obviously been dimmed out by the rusty façade. The guard that slouched at the desk looked up at them, arching a brow at them as they walked over to him.

"Morning, kinsmen," he greeted. "You here for a prisoner?"

"Yes, actually," Finrir answered, granting a look from Til. "His name is Telji," that thick lump in his throat had formed again, his voice cracking at the name.

_"Telji?" _the guard said with some sort of apprehension. He sighed, rising up from his chair, "Alright... Just be careful, why don't ya?"

Fin had found himself scanning every jail cell when the guard unlocked the door with a key, following them after all of them had entered.

"Here, lemme show you to him," the guard said, his voice making the blonde shiver and weaken with anxiety.

Their fellow guardsman led the way, walking over to the last cell on the right. Finrir, and Tiljor, felt their hearts skip a beat when they saw a man sitting in a chair facing the wall. Dressed in rags, he only turned around when the guard called his name. His expression was dark, masking over a certain hatred for the guardsmen of the city, a sneer plastering on his face. Lines had been crossed over his face from aging, his eyes tired and worn like an old cloth.

That all changed when he locked eyes with the blonde.

His eyes widening and his face softening, he had muttered gently, "Finrir?"

A drop of courage had landed on Fin when he replied, "Papa."

* * *

The party had lasted well over two hours, with the guests chatting and laughing along with the King. Tankards were clashed together, a bard had sung loud and clear, and just a general lightness with in the air. It was safe to say that day was one of the few times where the Palace knew Ulfric had been happy, instead of his usual serious tone and melodramatic ways. As Sifnar cleaned up the ripped up dark blue parchment, Galmar and Ulfric were sharing a few meads with the guests. The cake was almost gone, golden crumbs were left on the platter, and empty bottles of mead were left on the table.

Then it happened: "Sir! Sir!"

The old man and the King's attention had been turned to a guard, blood stained on his armor. His breathing had been nothing but pants, and his axe was coated with a fresh paint of blood. His armor had been slashed, the very fabric cut open like an old woman's purse.

"By the gods," Ulfric mumbled. "Guardsman, what happened?" he asked as he walked over to the guard, slamming his drink on the table.

"I saw him! H-He was right there in front of me, I swear!" the guard panicked, his hands quivering with shock.

"Wait a second," Galmar spoke with intense curiousity, following the King, who sat the guard down at the table. "Who did you see?"

The guard took a deep breath, everyone's eyes locked on him. The light and happy atmosphere had shifted to a dark and creepy one. His limbs were shaky, weak like a long-dead draugr. "Sir," he began, trying to get the harsh eyes and cold hands out of his mind. "There's been another murder."


	19. Pups and Cubs

**A/N: 50,000 words! So full of WIN!**

**Mawilla was doubting that I could write that many words, but she's starting to change her mind about this story (about time, right?). Anywho, about you, the reader, I would really like to thank you. The reviews I've gotten (which are forty-nine now, holy hell), and the small number of favorites and followers have really helped me even when I wanted to give up on this story and move on to something else. It has really helped me, and I thank you a lot for that. :)**

**On another note, apologies for this chapter being slightly overdue. I originally wrote it up to 2,500 words, then I lost the file, and then I had to write it all over again. Bad writer's block followed, but I dig this version better than the original so yay! :D**

***hands you a platter of sweetrolls and several bottles of mead* I'd say it's time to party, yes? Here is chapter nineteen, written for your viewing pleasure! Enjoy! :D**

* * *

_These things_  
_That I've_  
_Been told_  
_Can rearrange_  
_My world_  
_My doubt_  
_In time_  
_But inside out_

_This is the working hour_  
_We are paid by those who learn by our mistakes_

_This day_  
_And age_  
_For all_  
_And not for one_  
_All lies_  
_And secrets_  
_Put on_  
_Put on and on_

_—_"The Working Hour" by Tears for Fears

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen**

The body had been strangled, there was no doubt about that. Bruises and cuts had been planted on the cold, pale flesh. Her eyes had been replaced by thick globs of dried, caked blood, torn out perhaps by a knife of some sorts. A deep stab wound had been drawn down from her neck, the flesh sliced as if she was supposed to have been beheaded. An abhorrent and deathly smell sang in their noses as they examined the dead woman, her blood staining the pure white snow and stone of the road.

"By Talos," Galmar muttered under his breath as he eyed the corpse with wide eyes. A fog of mist flew into the air as he spoke once more, "Did anyone see this happen?"

The guards who stood by, frozen in fear, glanced at each other worriedly. They had turned a blind eye to what was before them, however it was enough to mar their senses as well. "Aye," one of them called out. "Cerjan did."

A Nord dressed in bloodied Stormcloak armor grabbed his fellow kinsmen's attention. His armor had been hacked, slashed mercilessly, the blood that stained the blue fabric becoming more perceptible as he sat on his knees in the snow, his breathing shallow and oppressive. The healer had placed her hand on the cuts that dripped with blood on his arms, a ring of noise piercing the air from her healing spell. Cerjan winced in sudden pain as the minor wounds closed, however the mental scars continued to torture him.

Galmar sent a glance to Ulfric, who had merely stood over the body like the Throat of the World watching over Skyrim. His eyes were burdened with a certain weight, a heaviness resuming in them. With his hands on his hips, he asked rather gently, "Cause of death, Captain?"

"Strangulation, sir," the Captain responded in his strong, accented voice. He curled his lips underneath his helmet before adding on, "From the scars on her arms, sir, it seems she had fought back against her killer."

The King kneeled down next to the body of the woman, who stared blankly at him with her mouth gaped open and her eyes empty. He examined the fresh scars that decorated her face, the skin hacked and her hair dry and bloodied with her own vigilance to fight back. Her chest had been partially exposed, the thin cotton fabric of her clothes stained heavily. A knife had carved her flesh, writing in savagely a mind-burning message that said 'happy birthday'. A shiver had crawled on the King as his eyes narrowed into the darkness underneath her clothing, a solid material catching his eye. He hesitantly reached into the ripped fabric, his hands catching the rough solid of a book.

_A book...? _he questioned as he pulled out the reading material, blood caked on the dull cover. _You can't possibly be serious, _he mused as his brow creased. The King felt the eyes of the guards and Galmar on him as he opened the book, his eyes catching on to the first words printed on it:

_The Bear of Markarth: War Crimes of Ulfric Stormcloak_

_By Arrianus Arius, Imperial Scholar_

_I'm sorry I'm not the son you wanted.  
-Pup  
_

The last words were scribbled in charcoal, the adrenaline from murder possibly making the writing hasty and difficult to comprehend. However, it didn't make it less hard, and the King knew _exactly _who wrote the lines. "Captain," he sighed, rising up with the book in hand. His gaze was dark, tired, rather bleak with color. Nonetheless, he continued softly, "You ever heard of Pup?"

The Captain paused, however he gathered himself and replied steadily, "I... Yes, sir. I believe I have."

"Good. I believe he's behind this," the King said bluntly, his tone suddenly cold despite the usual warmth that came with his voice. His fingers turned, playing with the book that his mind had automatically referred to as Hidar's calling card. But to resort to _murder, _to butcher an innocent person without any reason, and then to wimply say 'I'm sorry' in a message? His heart burned with the question, his stomach boiling as he turned to Cerjan, who coughed rather oily, "What did you see, Cerjan? Did you see Hidar?"

The soldier looked up limply to the King and his fellow guardsmen, his eyes emotionless and the fresh scar on his face becoming more palpable. He stayed silent for a moment before explaining, "Yes, s-sir." The image of the darkened eyes and the blood that dripped from the flesh that Hidar tasted from the fallen woman entered his mind, forcing him to cough up violently. As another one of the guards came to comfort him, he continued on, "H-He was... was _Hidar. _He said that he needed revenge because you... you forgot about him and he n-needed to find a way to comfort himself from the pain he went through."

_I forgot about him. _

Ulfric bowed his head somberly, with Galmar placing his hands behind his back respectfully. "Ulfric," he heard Galmar call out. "What do you want to do now?" The old man remained calm, pacing his breath along with the wind that numbed his skin. The expression Ulfric had was lifeless, empty, _cold. _Galmar had usually seen that face once or twice when bad news had been loose, but he later came to understand why he was like that. "Jorleif suggested we call a meeting with the Jarls," he added. "Of course, it's up to you—"

_I'm not a good father. _

"No!" Ulfric hissed, turning on his heel to glare his right-hand man in the eye with a persistent annoyance. "If he's here, he's here in Eastmarch!" he yelled, alarming the already startled guards, but surprising Galmar. He threw his hands up in the air, turning a blind eye to the stares he received from the guards, who huddled together closely. "Call the Jarls, Galmar! _All _of them—I want to make sure they know _exactly _what's going on!"

A silence was in the air for a mere moment as the old man exchanged confusing glances with the guards. Arching a brow at the King's behavior, he placed a numbing hand underneath his chin, feeling a gust of wind blowing in his face. Examining the boiling gaze Ulfric sent him, he took a deep breath and said calmly, "Alright then. I'll tell Jorleif."

With that, Ulfric took heavy steps back to the inside of Windhelm, the darkness in his eyes not subsiding. His hands turned into fists as Galmar sent him an icy stare, the guards following along. The old man knew what was wrong: Hidar, his degrading sense of life and little regard for the people around him. He had thought about how Hidar could turn into such a mess as he watched Ulfric shove aside Ulundil violently. The King's conscience became dark, teasing him as it repeated over and over: _I forgot about him. I'm not a good father. _

* * *

"Finrir..." Telji muttered under his breath, his hair falling in his eyes as he rose steadily from his chair. The flickering of the dim candlelight glowed in his eyes, casting off a dark and tenebrous aura within them. The cracking of his aging knees echoed throughout the halls as he glared at the blonde rather incredulity. "Is that really you?" he added, the vividness in his eyes not dying down.

The blonde felt his teeth grind unknowingly against each other, his nails digging themselves in his palms. "I want answers," he said, his voice coming out as a harsh growl between his lips.

The old Nord gave a rough laugh, "To what? Where the key to your mother's house is?" His voice was hoarse, rugged like a piece of scraped pavement, yet distinctively masculine in its rooted deepness.

Fin stayed silent, the man before him exactly like he had recalled: a wretched Nord with a pirate smile, a ludicrous Nord who cared little for the events taking place in the world around him. The blonde's gaze darkened, the silence equivalent to the dead air that came before a thunderstorm. "You know," he began, pointing a heated finger at his father, _"exactly _why I'm here."

Telji sighed heavily, walking over to the thick iron bars that separated him and his son. He rested his arm on one of the bars, his expression becoming more ponderous as he examined Fin's steel glare. "Fine then, Cub," he finally said, trailing lightly with his words. "What _exactly _do you want to know?"

"Why'd you leave?" the blonde snapped violently. The mimicking that came from his father fed the fire that was spreading within him. No relief was clearly visible as he continued on, his voice becoming louder and tenacious, "Would you _please _explain to _me _why you left!? How could you leave my _mother _and_ I_ alone like that!?"

The old man remained calm, although his own fire was beginning to spread as well. He simply chuckled, much to the agitation of Finrir. "On the subject of your mother," he said sedately, rubbing his temples. "I _never _left you and your mother, just—"

"Don't deny it, _Papa!" _Fin roared, prompting Tiljor to place a steady hand on his shoulder. The fury was salient in the quick way he scrunched up his nose between heavy breaths. His pure olive irises were masked by thick, stinging tears as an erratic hiccup escaped his lips. A hearty jab of sympathy hit Tiljor as his kinsman's words were interrupted by the coming tears, "You were never there for me, you were _never there!"_

"Cub," Telji called out, reaching out a hand towards his boy. His finger gently wiped away the hot tears that streaked Finrir's face, his eyes losing the dark emotion and gaining an empathic one. The silence was concealed by Finrir's sobs, his eyes red and raw with an old, yet unfinished emotion. The sadness hit Telji in a way he couldn't decipher as he continued, "The reason I wasn't there for you was because... because... of your mother."

Fin opened his watery eyes, two tears falling down his face like drops of rain. He tasted the saltine in the water, feeling his father's hand caressing his face. "My _mother?" _he muttered, his throat burning intensely. His voice cracked at the word of 'mother', and Til knew it was his only weakness beneath a pit of lava that burned almost every day. "I _have _no mother!" he yelled sharply, his airy and bubbly articulation eclipsed by the underlying disgust for the man before him.

Telji's brow came together briefly, muddled at his son's words. He scratched his full head of shaggy salt-and-peppered brown hair with his free hand, looking downwards towards the dirty and scraped floor. He ogled at the dust bunnies and old footprints that were shadowed by the dim lighting before sighing, "Cub, if you want to know the whole story..." He paused, glancing up towards Fin, "Look, you remember Sivare? Your grandpa?"

Accepted by Fin's instant nod, he continued, "Apparently, your grandpa didn't like me; I don't really know why though, got bad vibes I guess. So, I think you were 'round fifteen when I visited here, I think you remember, my old man was sick himself. That's when it happened, Cub," he said, pointing his finger playfully at the weeping boy. As Finrir wiped away his tears, Telji spoke again, "Your mother sent me a letter... Gods, what did it say again... Oh, it said that if me and her got divorced, your grandpa would give her some inheritance, like gold or something."

"What?" Finrir managed to squeak, his skin hot and his blood boiling. The words his papa said were lingering in his mind, his voice ringing in his ears. The blonde listened rashly to the sounds of Hedlir fussing with his sheathed dagger before speaking, "Neola said you left because of Myrla, that you left because of _her."_

"Oh Gods, no," Telji firmly denied, shifting his balance onto his other leg. He gathered his son's words, and his own, recalling the porcelain face of his ex-wife and her beautiful sun-kissed eyes. His hand absentmindedly scratched his head again as he looked down, "Listen to me, Cub, I only met Myrla _after _your mother and I got divorced. Now, the _only _reason your mother and I separated was because she told me that if she got the inheritance, she would be able to feed you, give you clothes, stuff like that. And that's what I wanted."

Finrir's indignation rose to light, his brow coming together and his tears drying on his face. "Oh, so it was for gold? _Gold?"_ he hissed, but it was the fire giving out its last flame. He rose his hand to wipe away his tears, pushing his thin bangs away from his eyes. The outrage gave its last, dying down as another crawling silence approached them. "Why are you in jail?" he finally muttered, his voice weak and shallow.

"Theft, lad," a smooth, accented voice said from within the darkness of the cell. The three men jumped at the sound of the male voice, realizing someone else was in there with Telji, watching them, _hearing _them. Within moments, the voice became a strongly built Nordic figure. The light glowed in his glass green eyes, giving off a dark gleam. His hair was of the reddest auburn, kissed by fire Til's mother would say. The ivory skin that molded his figure was hardened, roughed by dirt and fading scratches. He glared at Finrir with a gentle, yet sharpened, gaze, "Don't let the guards tell you, laddie, they might exaggerate the story. Look, our boss offered us a job for some good gold, enough for us to bed ourselves and grab a lunch every so often; robbing the Pawned Prawn on the other side of town it was."

"Theft? _Theft!?" _the blonde spat, his fire reaching out with a spark once again. The memory of when his father sat him down when he was merely a boy and spoke to him about crime and strangers came back to him. _'Never trust anyone who you think can cause trouble,'_ his papa said. _'And never, _ever_ give your life up for some sort of ding-donged crap—drugs, thievery, gangs, whatever it may be.'_ The blonde felt his father's hand on his own, remembering the warmth of his skin and the awkward feeling that had settled on his stomach as his papa continued, _'I want you to make something of yourself, Cub. I don't want you to follow in my footsteps.' _Finrir popped back into reality, "You told me _never _to steal, never to do any type of shit, yet you go ahead and fucking do it!"

"Hey!" Telji yelped, throwing his hands back. "You watch your tongue, young man!" He paused, aghast at the language that escaped his boy's mouth. Taking a deep breath that was magnified in the silence, he said hastily, "Some of things I've done, Cub, haven't been good. Yes, I told you not to do anything bad, but this is just how I have to survive."

"Lad," the auburn-haired cellmate spoke up, his eyes not leaving Fin's. "Listen to me, your papa's told the truth. Riften isn't the best place, a lot of people here aren't shiny and clear like other people are, you'd do well to remember that, laddie. This is just the way we have to survive, and your old man's already told me this is only temporary until he and his wife can get back on their feet," he explained gently, thankfully much more calmly than Telji and Fin. "Also, Tel," he muttered to Fin's father. "What's your boy's name again?"

Telji breathed slowly, "Finrir, named after my brother."

"Right," his cellmate gasped, savoring the memory of the man's name. He glanced over to the icy glare he received from the blonde, "Name's Brynjolf, lad. Might as well get acquainted, eh?" A smile formed on his lips as he pointed to the brunette and the redhead, who simply observed the previously heated conversation with meek interest, "Are these your friends, lad?"

"Aye," Finrir replied, glancing over his shoulder to his kinsmen. "This is Tiljor, Papa you should remember him," he said, an underlying anger becoming the bass of his voice. The brunette squared his shoulders, exchanging stares with Telji. A moment of silence appeared again before Hedlir cleared his throat loudly, an urge to tell him off rising in Finrir. "Oh, and this is, um..." the blonde stuttered. "This is Hedlir, we're _friends _with him."

"Aha!" the blonde's papa laughed, coming to a short distance with them in between the iron bars. "Tiljor, gods I remember now! You're Verlen's boy, aren't ya?" he called out, immediately recalling Kiva holding a small baby in her arms in his Windhelm house, back when his family was whole. _'He's got the eyes of a snowy sabre cat,' _she had said about her baby. He had remembered Neola coddling the babe, cooing to Kiva about how much her newborn son had looked like her. Telji smiled at how Til's sisters would cramp him in affection before saying, "Ha, you look like your mother there, boy!"

Til grinned, listening to the words he had been told his whole life. Although the image of his mother and father distressed over why he was gone, disappeared off the city of Windhelm without a trace entered his mind, he spoke up, "Yeah, you got it right... and I already know too."

Hedlir sent a dark gaze to the guard who stood aside, his arms crossed. His wide, deep eyes had a mystical presence as the dim candlelight flickered in them. Tightening the grip on his dagger, he scanned the guard's nebulous glare, a feeling of unwanted acknowledgement weighing him down. The voices of his kinsmen and the silent breaks in between dimmed out as he engaged in a bloody staring contest with the guard.

"I'm sorry," the guard muttered, clenching the redhead's arm with fierce strength. Hed squirmed in his kinsman's presence as he continued, "But I'm going to have to take you into—"

The redhead stabbed the guard in the abdomen, a heavy gasp escaping his mouth before he could swallow it back. The slowing of his heart was enough to satisfy Hed as he tightened the grip he had on his dagger, burying it furiously in the flesh and organs. The redhead felt the shocked eyes of his kinsmen from behind him, a slight gasp coming from Tiljor. Hedlir could almost feel the rushing of blood from the guard, making him tingle with some sort of undefined pleasure. He tore out the dagger from the guard's stomach, blood spewing onto the floor and his armor. Hedlir stabbed him again, this time in the chest. He pierced the blade into the guard's heart, ripping the skin and bones. Another gasp came from the guard, who stumbled poorly, his hands shaking before he finally landed on the ground.

"Holy," Finrir heard himself mutter, "shit."

"Hedlir," Tiljor said out loud, walking over gradually to the redhead, who stood frozen like a statue. Placing a hand on Hed's shoulder, the smell of copper and death sang in Til's nose as he asked with a type of harsh tone, "What the fuck was that about, brother?"

The Nord only smiled as if he was proud of what he had just committed, "What? I did you all a favor." He looked down to his dagger, which had been covered in a fresh paint of red blood, shining patiently in the light. "Besides," Hed added, shrugging his shoulders. "The guard had to die anyway."

"Good job, Hedlir," Fin said in a commanding voice. Til glanced over his shoulder, sending an emotionless gaze to the blonde, who walked over to them. The brunette felt a shiver crawl on him as the blonde brushed his arm against his own, "Tiljor, make sure no other guards come. I want to get my father and Berjalf out of here."

"I think its 'Brynjolf'," Hedlir corrected. The brunette noticed the darkness in his beautiful eyes, a gleam of something... _evil. _He placed a smirk on his smooth lips, a feeling filled with disdain and fear coming over Tiljor. The armor the redhead wore had been spattered with blood from the guard, his dagger dripping with the red liquid.

"Whatever," Finrir said, dismissing Hed's correction with a throw of his hand. "I just want them out of here," he added, looking over to Til, who instead of following his orders, stood in place. Tiljor stood still before he heard the blonde's piercing demand, _"Tiljor. _I'm not going to say it again, go check the entrance!"

The brunette glanced up with wide eyes. His kinsman's sharpened words were stomach-stabbing, although the little voice in his head told him to ignore it. He paused, suddenly feeling himself reaching for his weapon, tightening his hand around the hilt of it. However, his eyes locked on Fin's and out of avoidance, he repeated what his kinsman ordered him to do. He turned on his heel, turning a blind eye to Finrir's heavy gaze on him. The halls he walked through giving off a rather malevolent aura, the cells that dotted the walls becoming dark, wet, and gloomy.

Tiljor took a deep, inviting breath of the air that was in the front room. He felt a strange feeling as his eyes locked onto the chair that the now dead guard had sat in. Listening to the faded voices of his kinsmen from the prison rooms, he plotted himself in the chair, somehow pondering how he felt no remorse over Hedlir's killing. His fingers washed over the desk as he placed his feet on the wood, slouching in the chair in a relaxing style. Til's eyes looked over to a journal, the only thing on the table, and, arching a brow, he leaned over, feeling a tight strain on his arm muscles. He coughed heavily as the dust from the book evaporated in the air, the pages old and thin.

_Date: Sixteenth of Sun's Dawn, 4E 206_

_Telji Fire-Heart_

_Age: Late 40's to early 50's  
Race: Nord, believed to be half-Breton  
Status: Under much suspicion_

_Telji Fire-Heart came to our attention early last year during our investigation into the robbery that took place at the Bee and Barb. He was one of our top suspects, along with Brynjolf and a woman called 'Vex'. He was later taken into interrogation by the Captain, and was presented as a humorous, yet serious, man. During the interview, he mentioned another planned robbery and a trip to Windhelm to visit his estranged son, whom he spoke about instead of answering questions. He was later released, and declared innocent. _

_Date: Eighteenth of Sun's Height, 4E 206_

_Telji Fire-Heart was arrested along with Brynjolf. Taken into custody, Telji revealed he was a senior member of the Thieves' Guild and the robbery at the Pawned Prawn was a job they recieved from Mercer Frey. He admitted to the crime and was sentenced to prison for six months._

Tiljor smirked hesitantly, his suspicions confirmed about Telji's real motives. A type of satisfaction reared over him, although he wasn't sure why. The room had been dead silent, only his cold chuckle breaking its fragile state. He had then thought of Finrir rather rashly, thinking of his over-powering and bold personality. The brunette knew the blonde's weaknesses, his signs, his ups and downs. However, he suddenly had no sympathy for his kinsman's papa. _'We are a product of action,' _his father once told him. _'If you do something wrong, expect to be judged. If you do something right, expect to be judged.' _

He swallowed, taking in a deep breath before turning the old page over. He was judging Telji, immediately admitting to himself that he would become a hypocrite if he dared deduced him. Til took no hesitation in reading what was next, listening to the voices of his kinsmen that was weighing him down.

_Date: Twenty-fourth of Heartfire, 4E 202_

_Verhal Dire-Icronev_

_Age: Predicted to be 27  
Race: Nord  
Status: High alert_

_Verhal Dire-Icronev came to our attention eight months ago about the stabbing of his father, and the house fire that killed his younger sister. He was one of the suspects in the double murder, and was later taken into interrogation. Verhal came across as a Nord with a happy, optimistic demeanor. Under interrogation, he said his father was killed by a group of Stormcloaks, and his sister's death was an "accident". However, he later confessed to the killings, saying he murdered them because they "couldn't accept" his decision to support the Stormcloaks in the war. He was arrested and sentenced to thirty years in prison by the Jarl. _

_Research into the case revealed that Verhal had a series of mental episodes, with symptoms including extreme violence and persistent aggressiveness. His mother claimed he "heard voices" and became unresponsive in most cases. Complaints were given by prison guards about screaming and laughing coming from Verhal, and mentions of his father and mother. He was later proclaimed insane and unstable by the Jarl's court healer. _

_Three months ago, Verhal managed to escape the prison, but not without heavy costs. Ten of our guards were killed, and eight of them severely injured. Verhal's location is currently unknown, but our investigation into the matter revealed that he is using an anagram of his name; that anagram has yet to be known. _

_Warning: Verhal Dire-Icronev is considered mentally unstable, and is armed and extremely dangerous. He is described as a tall Nord with red hair and, according to his mother, has very dark blue eyes. Approach with much caution._

_What a sad sack, _Tiljor thought, grinning widely with a growing interest. The voices of his kinsmen grew louder and their footsteps became closer as he chuckled lightly, closing the journal carelessly and throwing it into his pack. Finrir entered the room hastily, followed by his papa and their kinsmen. The look on the blonde's face was indescribable, even to Til as he examined the hatred that was buried in his eyes. The air around them was tense, almost unbearable, weighing their hearts and minds down with a pressured force.

The blonde made his way to the back room, fussing with the weapon racks on the wall as Til heard Telji joke, "I do hope we can rocket ourselves out of here."

Hedlir smirked widely, his face tinted with a gentle pink. His bright hair fell into his eyes as he replied, his fingers playing with each other, "I don't think we can't. We have to stab our way out." A dead silence approached the room at the redhead's words, with Brynjolf and Telji looking over to each other and Til raising his brow at his kinsman's boldness. Hed resumed as if he said nothing, ruffling his hair as a nervous habit, curling his lips rather quaintly.

Finny almost tripped over the old, chipping floor. His hands carried an aging iron sword, and a shiny, newly forged steel axe. The metal gleamed beautifully in the candlelight hanging from the ceiling as he tossed the weapons to his papa and the auburn-haired man, who catched it reluctantly with shaken hands. Finrir paused and said rather casually, "Hed's right. We gotta fight our way outta here."

"Or you can take the back entrance," Brynjolf said, his voice ever so smooth. "I'm staying here in Riften, lads, but you can avoid all the drama of the guards by taking the south door out."

The three men glanced to each other, taking Bryn's plan into consideration. Telji spoke up amongst the silence, "Sounds like a good idea. We can avoid the guards, and the men standing outside are harmless." Nothing was said still, the silence burdening and heavy to the heart. Fin sent a glance to Tiljor, who's little voice inside his head said to look away, however he denied its request and stared back. The brunette noticed the arching of his kinsman's brow and the biting of his lips, immediately recognizing that he agreed with the plan to use to back way out.

"Fine," Til cleared his throat, gathering the sudden stares of his brothers. "Then we'll use the back way out."

One by one, they made their way outside, breathing in the fresh nighttime air. The stars in the sky was brightly lit, the moon hanging rather lowly in Tiljor's eyes. The wind gustling in the trees above sent cool shivers among the men, who gripped the hilt of their weapons with a death-grip. The torches the guards were holding from afar seemed like small light posts in the darkness, the bustle of the afternoon market district long gone.

"Alright laddies," Brynjolf said softly, his fellow Nords looking over to him, their features concealed by the nighttime darkness. "I'll lead you to the gate, but I'm staying here in Riften," he explained, granting a nod from Telji. "Come on, lads," he muttered as he lead them to the back alleys of the city.

The walls that were stoned around them pressed against the black sky, an odd feeling coming into Tiljor as the gate was near in sight. It was dimmed by the nightly fixture, no words being said between any of them. However, the brunette didn't deny the fresh, cool air of his native Skyrim was refreshing from the heat of the prison. The humidity he recalled in the dark halls warmed him as the sounds of heavy feet against the stone was all he could listen to.

"Here we are," the thief whispered as he pressed his hands on the wooden gate. "Don't worry, the guards standing outside are with us; they won't hurt you." He saw the men swallow, his bright eyes peering at them in the darkness, deciding to break the silence between them, "I'm staying here. Telji, I'll tell Mercer what happened, alright?"

"Thanks Bryn," Fin's father huffed, giving out a hearty chuckle. His eyes followed Brynjolf as he opened the gate, the piercing sounds of the old wood making Tiljor shiver with worry. The guards who stood outside merely glanced at them as the four men walked by, leaving Bryn to stand beside the gate, watching them with narrowed eyes. Til looked over his shoulder to the guards, who stared back at them emptily through their helmets. The air almost seemed to have lightened with the sound of the gate closing and the stench of the city dissipating.

_Can't believe my bastard father is coming with us, _Finrir mused as he stared into the space ahead of him. _I hope Til is going to side with me. _


	20. Within the Darkness

**A/N: Cheerio!**

**Now, if you're wondering why this chapter took so long, here's the story_—_testing, testing, a long time outlining. I had a bunch of semester final exams, and I had to study big time so I could pass. I put my writing for this chapter on a little hiatus time. I really just lost inspiration for this story for a while. This is by far the longest chapter I've written for this story, over 6,000 words. Don't worry, I won't be writing any chapter of mega-length like this anymore, 5,000 words is the maximum for me. :) Also, I squeezed everything into one night, so this might be a little rushed. **

**The ever so crazy Butcher of the East makes an overdue appearance in this chapter. I just know y'all have been _dying _to hear what's going on with Ulfric's bastard son, am I right? His part was much fun for me to write too!**

**I decided to post this tonight since I have a doctor's appointment in the morning, so I leave you now with chapter twenty. I hope you like it!**

* * *

_The lights go out and I can't be saved_  
_Tides that I tried to swim against_  
_Have brought me down upon my knees_  
_Oh I beg, I beg and plead, singing_

_Come out of things unsaid_  
_Shoot an apple off my head and a_  
_Trouble that can't be named_  
_A tiger's waiting to be tamed, singing_

—"Clocks" by Coldplay

* * *

**Chapter Twenty**

"Alright, fellas," Telji spoke loudly among the silence that overtook the four men. The stone that had carved the road was shadowed heavily by the still trees and the night sky above them as the aging thief ruffled his hair, glancing over to his towering son who walked ahead of the three Nords. "Now, would anyone like to explain to me what you three boys are doing all the way out here?" he asked, coughing lightly afterwards, the chill in the air freezing his nose to the point of numbness.

A snicker came from Finrir, prompting Telji to send an icy glance over to him. The Nord walked hastily in front of his kinsmen, not wanting to breath in the same air his father did. Tiljor glanced at Hed who gazed awkwardly toward the road, the pause between them growing more tense than he could have imagined. The Nord tried to take in what they had done, yet the works of it stopped right when it entered his mind.

"We're actually here because of Hidar," Hedlir blurted out, resulting in a whipping gaze from Tiljor. Hed looked over to Fin's father, his violet eyes shimmering like water in the fading sunlight. "We're looking for him," he added to perhaps soften the growing tension between them.

"Who in the gods' great graces is Hidar? Is he your new lover or something?" Tel responded, his voice hoarse. His ears picked up on Finrir's hot sigh that was visibly clouded by peevishness and a rising annoyance. Til felt himself grin widely, however Fin found it less than amusing. Fin felt an intense explosion ready to erupt within him, a growing irritability to every sound and gesture around him. It was something he was used to, something he was born with, a fire flickering ever so presently in his heart.

"He's Ulfric's son. He killed..." Til trailed off with his words, prompting a questioning glance from Telji. The ghosts of the three Nords he called brothers entered his mind_—_from Bilen's kind-hearted charm to Terfor's bleak, glassy copper eyes. A string of guilt played in his gut, knowing if _he _returned to the docks that night he would've been able to save them.

_It's not your fault. Stop it. _

"Bilen, Terfor, and Herdgir," Fin spat. The names of their friends sent a shiver down Til's spine, regrettably forcing his hands to shake with a growing anxiety. He was almost disturbed by the lack of compassion in Fin's voice, although he wasn't sure if he was just imagining it. Finrir didn't look back to share a glance with his kinsmen as he explained, "He killed the three of them."

Telji paused, his eyes growing wide. The separate images of the three Nords ran through his mind, each one carved with their own structure and spirit. He had no hesitation in recalling how his son would crawl over to a toddler Bilen, placing his tiny hands on the toy horse his young friend had grown attached to. Later on, Finrir would cry and scream to get the toy, and Telji couldn't help but send a smirk at the mental image. He watched the boys grow into men_—_from cuddling with them to showing them how to swing a sword. _They grew into fine men, _the thief thought. _All of 'em... Every single one of them. _

"They're... they're _dead?" _Tel said among his disbelief. He wasn't sure how to react though, and his mind had suddenly raced with heavy and burdening thoughts. "You're not serious," he added on, huffing out his words. However, that wasn't enough for Fin to turn around to gaze at him. Til gave a glance to Telji, who returned it, perhaps holding on to its grasp a bit longer than he should've.

"Do any of you feel like we're living in a story?" Hed asked abruptly, making Tiljor chuckle lightly at his comment. It was the redhead's face that shown the seriousness of the question, and more than a few grins were passed among the men.

"We're not _living _in a _story, _Hed," Finrir replied._ Talos, how stupid can he possibly be?_

"I know, but it just seems like someone is planning out all of this," Hedlir explained. Til shook his head humorously, knowing it would be his kinsman to say something like that. The gloomy cloud above them had faded gradually as Hed continued, "Everything that's been happening to us recently—it seems all planned out. It's like we're in a story."

"We are not living in a fucking story," Fin grumbled, clenching his fists fiercely.

"Watch your language," Telji warned, his voice strong and rather dense.

The forest remained still, the city of Riften growing distant in the shadows. It was silent, almost as if the army of wild animals that lurked in the woods ran off at the very smell of them. The chill in the air was obvious, planted deeply within the thin air around the men as they walked quietly on the road. There was little comfort in the darkened nature that blew in the wind, the trees cold and the grass icy with little warmth. Tiljor hugged himself, his skin paralyzed with Skyrim's nighttime weather. His arms grew solid against the air before Finrir turned around, suggesting they'd camp out for the night. It seemed like an exorbitant idea in his mind, but Til couldn't refuse when he saw Riften's towers barely poking through the trees.

The men silently agreed to the idea of a camp-out, placing out their bedrolls onto the grass. The fur secretly seduced them into a deep sleep, however they refused. The attack of a wild animal still teased Tiljor in the back of his mind as he sat down on the grass over his bedroll, watching as Telji rubbed two thick, scraped sticks together over a circle of uneven rocks. Finrir stood by, rather distant from the group, Til noted. There were moments where his kinsman was more secluded from the people that surrounded him, yet Tiljor knew it wouldn't calm his tongue.

"To Oblivion with science!" Telji hissed, throwing the sticks from his hands. _You have to do it during the day, under the sun, _Til thought, grinning widely at Tel's slight stupidity on the subject. Til averted his eyes to Hedlir, who dumped himself next to him. He looked exhausted, his muscles aching with an underlying pain. Despite that, the redhead had a small grin twitching at the corners of his mouth.

"Hey, Til," the redhead muttered, his breath hot on Til's skin. He held his favorite mug of mead in his hand, the silver metal shining in the moonlight. "Listen, I want to ask you something..." he paused, scanning his kinsman's emotionless expression, yet he could tell by his intense stare that he was listening. "My family is from Dawnstar, you know that_._ Look, my mother and I have some... unfinished business that I would like to get sorted out before the old hag dies_—_"

"You want us to head to Dawnstar?" Tiljor interrupted, glancing down towards the ground. He knew what Hedlir wanted, and he knew what Hedlir needed to do. Hed never said anything about his past, leaving holes and gapes within the story of his life for Til to fill in with his imagination. Dawnstar was all he knew about the fiery redhead, as it held some significant meaning to him. Why it was so important the brunette didn't know, but it was his kinsman, his _brother. _"We can if you want," he added, glancing off to Finrir, who glared at the two of them with intense interest. "I don't mind, really."

"Truly?" Hedlir pressed, his beautiful eyes widening almost immediately. A source of comfort his eyes were, a type of feeling Til just couldn't describe. Happiness it was, something he just couldn't find in Finrir, no matter how deep he buried into his kinsman's history. His smile was bright within the worst of situations, something he couldn't find in Finrir. His mind was optimistic, happy, something he couldn't find in Finrir. Yet Tiljor examined him, swimming in the deepness of his wide eyes that could silence even the loudest of beasts.

He was just... _perfect. _

Til shivered, feeling the cold crawl on his skin again. He couldn't think like that, not this time. "Thanks, Til," he heard Hed say, his voice airy and lightened. Something within him tingled as he felt the steady hand of the redhead on his shoulder, his voice filling up his ears again, "I knew I could count on you."

"Yeah, sure. Now, get away from him!" Fin snapped, stomping over to the two Nords. Telji arched a brow at his son as he saw him land in between Hed and Til, something firing in his eyes. _By the gods, _Tiljor mumbled mentally. _Nice way to ruin a friendly moment. _

"Well, Cub, I didn't know Til was your new _little muffin__," _Tel teased, his voice low with a touch of sarcasm. Finrir sent a disapproving stare at his father, who merely chuckled at his response. He knew all too well that his son was not one of sarcasm, and it was something he had came across many times during the course of his life. It was funny to him, most of his family members enjoyed jokes and laughter. Finrir, though... he was different from everyone else. Along with a fiery temper that could explode if only touched, being humorless didn't add light to him either.

"'Little muffin', ha!" Hed laughed out loud, wiping off the drops of mead that poured down his chin. He gave a light punch to Fin's shoulder, "Because everyone knows that you and him are hot in the oven!"

"By the gods, stop!" Finrir wailed, throwing himself away from Hedlir's grasp. Tiljor felt a laugh rumbling in his chest, glancing off to Hed. The way the redhead had nearly spit out his mead made the brunette giggle uncontrollably, a force he couldn't resist. Although there was a feeling that Fin would yell at him furiously for it, there was no way he could not enjoy it.

"Wait, what?" Telji said, pausing the conversation with a puzzled look. He looked over to his son, who held a baffled look on his face. "You two? In the _oven?" _he questioned, pointing a curious finger at the blonde.

"Pa, stop it!" Fin ordered, the atmosphere around them turning cheerful and lighthearted. Telji buried his face in his hands at the topic of conversation that had erupted out of nowhere, the echoes of laughter seeping into the silence of the forest. It was in fact an awkward, and perhaps humorous topic that ceased the heavy worries that laid themselves on the shoulders of the men. "I don't want to talk about that," Finrir admitted, shifting his position on the grass.

"I should throw some holy water on you," Telji joked, earning himself a gut-bursting laughter from Hedlir, and a growing chuckle from Tiljor. Fin was more than disturbed, his glare unwavering as his father continued, "I should beat you in the name of the gods!"

"If you're going to mock me, at least come up with a smart way to do it," Fin said in an attempt to defend himself from the rallies of laughter that filled his ears loudly. He found little humor from within the conversation, his attempts at denying the sudden accusations becoming blurred by laughter and jokes. _You're going against everything your family taught you, _his conscience teased in the back of his mind. "I said I don't want to talk about it," he spat out, a flame firing in his heart.

"Don't take it so personally, Cub," Telji advised, noticing his son's weary and annoyed state. "We're only joking here."

Finrir didn't respond, but instead looked off into the distance. He kept his mouth shut, yet his mind was screaming and raging at what he had just witnessed. How they could make fun of him was beyond his comprehension, he had mused. It was serious to him, a subject no one should tamper with or laugh at. He had kept it bottled inside, an anxiety he didn't wish to have spilt over a campfire. _He still doesn't accept you, you can see it in his eyes, _he thought to himself. _You think your mother accepts you now, huh? You think your _father _accepts you now? No, they don't._

Tiljor felt the blonde's hand on his leg, watching it with a sudden strike of intimidation. That strange feeling rose up in him again, his heart being hit with an alien force as Hedlir's chuckle echoed in his mind. He closed his eyes, the sudden image of his dead kinsmen blurring him rather rudely. It was something he tried to block, a pressure he couldn't lift. _Bilen, Terfor, Herdgir... Gods, why? Why did it have to be them!?_ his conscience screamed, a fire boiling up inside of him. Rage, perhaps at himself was what it was, and he didn't want to show it, not even to Finrir.

Guilt_—_that was what he was feeling. He could've done something, if his schedule that day had changed maybe something would've been different. That morning was what changed everything, _that _was what made his life so complicated, _that _was why he was out there in the nighttime forest. An agonizing look was obvious in his eyes, a look of secret torture and hidden pain. He should've kept the necklace, he realized. Their ghosts were probably looking up from Sovngarde, condemning him in the heavens for such an action. Heartless, but with conscience_—_that was how he would've described it. Yet somehow he couldn't accept it, for it was almost too much to bear. He could've done something that morning, he could've saved them.

_Yeah, I could've done something. I could've saved them, but I didn't; I was too much of a coward. I shouldn't have ran, I should've stayed. _

_They were men just like me. They had lives, they had families, they had hopes and dreams. I will never be able to laugh with them again, I will never be able to drink with them again. I could've saved them, I could've done something. Now I will never see them again, I will never hear their voices or see their faces again. They were my kinsmen, my family, but I betrayed them. They called my name, but I kept on running. I didn't even look back, I didn't care. It's my fault they're gone. _

_I should've done something. _

* * *

The jarls were all present in the war room, a solemn look hidden within their eyes. Sitting down comfortably in the chairs, some played with their hands on the table, while others simply stared off into space. The atmosphere was bitter as they all knew why they were there at that specific time, the silence only overtaking the anticipation of the words yet to come. If anything, they had never expected this type of solitary action, a secret mission only the King and nobility had knowledge of. Yet as they sat there in the war room, the only thing left on their minds was the Butcher that terrorized all of their citizens.

"I believe you all know why you are here," Ulfric finally said, breaking the tense silence that poured into the room.

"I didn't come all this way for a boy who's riddled himself full of skooma," Skald spat out, gaining himself a sharp look from the King. It was enough trouble hearing it from a civilian, however from an aging jarl, it was a bit more complicated to brush off. Usually, Ulfric would only allow himself to hear good things about his boy_—_how talented he was, his intelligence, his undying determination to succeed. This time was different though, _much _different.

"Skald, please," Laila said quietly. Ulfric kept his tongue as she added, "He is still Ulfric's son, and you need to respect that."

Skald only huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. His mouth was bigger than a mammoth, and everyone knew it. Ulfric felt no aversion to the aging's man comment, only placing his hands conveniently on the table. "Now," he spoke, his voice warm, yet darkened by a chilly undertone. He eyed each jarl that sat before him_—_from Korir's icy eyes to Elisif's beautifully sculpted face, paired with her fiery red hair. The glare in Elisif's eyes was burning, a rage that shown onto her face. However, the King merely gave a quick grin before finishing off his sentence, "Whose city has suffered from my son's behavior?"

Dengeir was the first to raise his hand, a swift motion that drew the eyes of all who were there. "Your boy made his first crime in my city three years ago," he spoke, locking eyes with the King's dull ones. An emotion came onto Ulfric, a dark feeling knotting in his stomach as the aging man continued, "He burned down a house, and murdered a woman and her family... That boy is just shamful, just _shameful." _

The King took a deep breath, hoping his galling state wouldn't show on his features. His fingers rubbed in a hard way against each other, clearing his throat in a respectful manner. The eyes of the jarls were on him, almost teasing him to show off his rage towards his boy's blind ways of life and his destructive paths. His voice seemed to have dimmed out, his back reeling in an attempt to find it again. "Anyone else?" he managed to squeak out.

"There was a woman," Elisif said, her voice making a strange tingle fill in on Ulfric. She was hunched over in her chair, confronting the King with the glare that divulged in her eyes. The King stared at her, his eyes narrowing down onto her. No fear struck within her as she explained, "She was in Solitude for a while. She was interested in Hidar's whereabouts. Falk said she came to the Palace more than once, asking about your son."

"And?" Ulfric pressed, his voice gaining strength. "Who was she?"

"I did some research to see why she was so interested in the subject," the young woman continued. She swallowed, a little voice in her head suddenly regretting her place within the room. Maybe she shouldn't have said anything, to keep quiet and stay in the shadows. "She turned out to be a former Dark Brotherhood assassin, with ties to Windhelm. Her name was Jorrina Half-Heart."

Ulfric's scowl deepened.

Elisif arched a brow, torn between whether to continue or to quiet down. She felt a smirk play with the corners of her mouth as she spoke again to the King's frozen state, "She's been missing for several days now. It was normal for her to leave the city, although it's never been this long. Her husband came to my court the other day, and he told us that she's been interested in several... _Stormcloaks _in your army."

_Her husband. By Talos, she's alive, _Ulfric mused. His glare softened towards Elisif, feeling his heart skip a beat against his ribs. The bright, sky blue eyes and soft, platinum blonde hair entered his mind. He was bothered by it, teased with little mercy from his conscience. "Jorrina," he muttered, her name sounding odd to his ears. "Are you sure her name was that?"

"Oh, sure, Ulfric," Galmar rolled his eyes, letting out a slow, sarcastic tone. The King looked over his shoulder to send a cold gaze onto the old man, who continued idly, "As if there are _millions _of Jorrina Half-Hearts out there."

"Quiet, Galmar," the King ordered, silencing his right-hand man. Another pause of stabbing silence gave way, prompting Ulfric to clear his throat to gather Elisif's attention. His eagerness for her to continue was obvious, a sign he was waiting for things to get underway before him.

"She's going after your son," Elisif said, dragging Ulfric back to glare at her like she was prey. She swallowed, only glancing into the King's glassy eyes before saying under her breath, "She only said she was going on a hunting trip. I found out she was going after Hidar because I read her journal."

"You can end it there," Ulfric demanded, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He silenced Elisif with a wave of his hand, a dark feeling settling in his blue-green eyes. The other jarls simply sat in silence, a tense atmosphere coming onto the room. Ulfric kept his posture, remaining civil as Elisif didn't let go of the death stare that plagued the air around him. There was much he was thankful for_—_none of the jarls needed to approach his Palace that morning, yet they did anyway. Ignoring a king's call was foolish, Ulfric realized. None of the jarls before him were that stupid; they supported him throughout the war and knew what they had to do to protect their people and cities.

_Am I thankful for my son? _the King thought, dragging himself back to what stood before his eyes. _No, I am every part thankful for him. There is no greater gift the gods have given me than my fearless little Hidar. _He felt himself give a small grin, his ears deaf to the conversation Skald had initiated with Korir. Thongvor let out a heavy sigh, while Laila had brushed her elegant clothes. Anyone could've noticed the King's steady state that covered an underlying burden to find Hidar and wack some sense into him, but no one made any mention of it. Instead, they ignored it like they ignored most things, not fully grasping the sleepless nights and missed birthdays he had to go through. _But she can't get to him, _Ulfric's conscience spoke, his gaze growing dark and icy. _I have to get to Hidar before she does. _

* * *

Valko stared at Hidar with perceptive eyes, his furry ears pricking up at the sounds of his irritated sighs. The sturdy wolf tilted his head, intensely curious at his Nord friend's frantic movements in the dimly lit room. He pawed his aging bone, a mixture of dark and light brown spotting the material he had dug out from a decaying body. Sitting up, Valko hung his tongue out lowly, saliva dripping down to the dirt beneath him.

Hidar let out an irritated sigh, rubbing a sweaty palm through his hair. The sparkle in his eyes from the candle he lit had grown dark, annoyed, almost enervated as he placed a hand on his hip, a drop of sweat pouring down his face. The Nord paused, glancing around his home, eyeing the wolf several times. His mind sped at a high-speed pace, his heart pacing at a considerable rate. He felt his arms crumble, becoming weak with anxiety and self-stricken terror. The heat that boiled in the cave created a thin layer of sweat that pasted itself on his skin, his armor feeling heavy and burdening on his body. Glancing down, he rubbed a finger on the deep scars on his wrist, feeling out the bumps that the healing skin produced.

_'You're just my little plaything... and you will never, ever escape.'_

He shuddered violently, stumbling back towards the bloody table. He caught himself, placing a hand on his forehead as Valko rose up, startled by the sudden bolt of movement. The sharp pain he met when he grabbed the rock and sliced his flesh hit him, sending a jab of vulnerability throughout his skin. His vibrant, blue-green eyes had a darkening emotion to them, a hectic feeling that matched the sudden screams filling his heart. The panting wolf beside him skipped over to him, his paws creating shapes in the dirt. A gentle gesture it was as Hidar felt Valko's wet tongue lick his hand smoothly.

"Sorry, boy," the Nord said, his voice warm and inviting to the wolf. The dark, murderous blue eyes of the bandit chief filled his mind, his blood picking up speed. He felt the presence of rough hands on him, placing themselves steadily with a perdurable force on his flesh. The little voice stuck in his head had transformed itself, repeating the bandits' harshly whispered words in his ear. Only then did he realize that his hands were shaking overwhelmingly as it caressed Valko's thick, gray fur.

Valko gave out a light whimper, almost as if he could detect Hidar's sudden need for violence and death. The Nord shook off the thought of the bandits, however it still stabbed him in the back of his mind as he walked over to his pack. His hands touched everything within it, his mind mentally checking all of his equipment. His skin became sticky with a burning heat, his heart beating at a pace that fueled his revulsion at forgetting something he would remember later. It was his enemy_—_his own mind that tormented him relentlessly by forcing him to recall the strong hands of the bandits, his own body that carried out the acts of violence that made him known and feared throughout the very land he called home.

"Valko," he called out, alerting the wolf. The beast looked up at him, his amber eyes following the movements of his Nord friend. Hidar towered over Valko, reaching over to feel the fur that shone dully in the candlelight. _Father is a persistent man_, Hidar realized to himself. _It was always like that. _

"Come on, boy," Hidar grinned, the first attempt at a smile in weeks. The smirk on his face was solid as he wiped his hand across his forehead, the light dirt rubbing off the scratches and scabs that dotted his knuckles. Hidar snatched his black cloak from the stained table, wrapping it around himself as he pulled the hood over his head. Carrying his leather pack on his shoulder, he listened to the loud bark Valko gave out as the two walked out of the cave impetuously.

Hidar had grown accustomed to the thick forests of Falkreath, from the dirt path that created an overlook of the town to where the wolves' favorite hunting spot was. The smell of pine and roast danced throughout the forest day and night, and Valko enjoyed his pastime of chasing rabbits and foxes, delivering a meal for him and his Nordic master. However, it was like any other place_—_he could only stay there for so long until the pressure of his father's ebullient forces were close by. Hidar may have been crazy, but he understood his tactics and created ways to elude the punishment that had long-awaited him.

They steered clear of the road, instead lingering in the forest. The chances of running into a pack of Stormcloaks were too high, and Hidar noticed the sudden acceleration of guards on patrol. The tall grass skimmed Hidar's skin, sending waves of a tickling sensation throughout him. He chuckled lightly to himself as he watched Valko stare intensely at the rabbit that sniffed the air in front of them, prompting Hidar to stop his trail.

"Go get 'em, boy," the Nord urged, tapping the wolf's sturdy head. He felt the infrangible structure of the bone against his finger, giving out an ear-splitting smirk at the wolf's frozen body. The white rabbit he gave a low, vibrating growl at looked up with large black eyes, its little pink nose moving ever so slightly. One wrong move and your dead, Valko seemed to have warned the tiny rabbit. The two animals stayed put, not a paw shaking, not a nose sniffing.

The wolf bolted towards the rabbit, leaping up to it. He entangled it with his jaws, his saliva wetting the white fur of the squirming little bunny. Valko lowered his ears, the fur of his snout scrunched up in a threatening manner. Hidar watched, absorbed by Valko's sudden outburst of violence, a natural need to kill. He had learned of the wolf's workings and mannerisms_—_how he would wait for him to stop talking before sending off a growl or a whimper, where he would place his food after grabbing it off the table, how his eyes drooped when he stared off into space. It was almost like conversing with another Nord, however Hidar remained steady towards the fact that Valko was indeed a wolf.

"Hahaha!" the Nord laughed at the beast, who jogged happily with a bloody, dead rabbit locked in his teeth. The wolf sunk his teeth into the flesh of the innocent bunny, his furry tail wagging from side to side. "That's how you do it, Valko," Hidar praised, crossing his arms over his chest. "You just get in there close enough, and start hacking 'em to pieces!" he grinned, his voice airy and almost filled with pride as the wolf merely stared up at him.

The wolf tasted the coppery spice of the blood, the crimson liquid dripping from his mouth to stain the grass underneath them. Hidar felt the corners of his mouth twitch into a grin, looking deeply into the proud eyes of the wolf that stared back at him ever so silently. He heard himself chuckle lightly before saying, "Let's get moving, boy. We don't have any time to waste."

As they continued to venture deep into the forest, Hidar attempted to make small conversation with wolf, "Valko, you think I need to shave my beard?"

The beast dropped the rabbit onto the ground before barking in a reply.

"Yeah, I think so too."

Hidar glanced up to study a flying band of birds escaping the trees. The sudden rushing of the bushes around them sent a tingle of anxiety climb through him, a feeling he automatically told himself to ignore and despise. He listened to the loud calls of the birds before looking down towards Valko, whose snout was crumbled in a baleful growl. His teeth vibrated against the deepness of his warning, his eyes slit towards the bushes. The Nord arched a brow at the wolf's pulled-back ears, and his low height towards the ground. Hidar knew better than to doubt Valko's senses, he was in fact a beast who could hear and smell farther than he could. However, the beast's sudden inauspicios stance prompted the fear within Hidar to grow increasingly.

They weren't alone.

Valko could smell them—a scent of washed up beaches, broken down by the pine of the forest. Their movements were slow, gradual, their skin rubbing up against the bushes. The wolf had never sensed anything quite like them before, their smell was different, their sounds unnatural. They were a threat, ready to stab him and his master to shreds if he let them. His ears twitched to the sounds of distant voices, buried within the dense structure of the nature around them. It was a feeling Hidar couldn't describe, a feeling of fear and confusion all mixed in one. He just couldn't understand Valko's behavior, that was filled with violent growls and instinct to protect his master.

It happened too fast.

One after the other, they started rushing in towards them. Valko barked, snapped, and growled all he could, but it was no use. Their hands laid themselves strongly on Hidar, the same _terror, _the same _pain, _the same _fear. _Suddenly, the dark blue eyes of the bandit chief entered his mind once again, teasing him with a rush of heart and blood. There had been no time to think, instead his heart plummeting to his stomach as one of them pulled out a knife, clawing at Valko's attempts to protect his Nord friend. But it was too late, too fast before the knife buried itself into the wolf's stomach, coating itself in a fresh paint of crimson.

They couldn't take Valko. Not him, not now.

Hidar bolted himself at the attacker, pulling him back from the wolf. The whimpers and cries only burned themselves in the Nord's mind as they overtook him, too many there were to defeat. Yet there was nothing he could've done, one against a hundred was no good. Their eyes stared back at him, their hands covering around him like an aura of light. The voice of the commander was sharp and firm, unleashing more anger into Hidar's blood as he struggled in their grasp. It felt as if he was being swallowed alive, a million hands dragging him down. _No, _he mused furiously. _This can't be happening, __not again. _

Before he knew it, a cloth had been wrapped around his eyes. The sounds they had created around him intensified, a trembling feeling unlike any other. Valko whimpered loudly, only silenced by a sharp rumble coming from ahead of him. He yelled out, grabbing hold of the hands that placed themselves firmly on his skin. It was his past all over again, a strike of terror nothing could replace. Something was wrong, something was _terribly _wrong... yet he couldn't decipher what it was. It was a lock he couldn't pick, a code he couldn't make out...

A person he couldn't slaughter.

"Come on, we've got him cornered now. Let's follow our orders!" a clear, masculine voice said from the horizon. Hidar only panicked, his breathing became magnified as he felt his hands shake wildly. It couldn't have been happening, not to him. They took his precious Valko, butchered him before his eyes. He didn't recognize them, gowned in darkness that clouded their minds and eyes. Their judgement had obviously been fogged by their orders from the commander, another heap of terror making its way into Hidar's mind. There was no sensation to replace another, just the past replaying in his head over and over again. The bandit chief entered his mind, teasing him, _seducing _him with a dark pleasure he didn't want to give into. It all came back to him, fighting within his blood and heart without any mercy given.

That's when everything went black.


	21. Cuts and Bruises

**A/N: Yay, I'm posting this a tad bit earlier than I expected!**

**It's summer and I'm lazy. Therefore, this chapter came _slow, _thanks to my damn muse being more interested in Halo 4. I'm not quite sure how I found the time to write this, so I hope I did okay. This chapter didn't turn out as good as I wanted it to be, plus I feel like some parts are rushed and not completely great. To top everything off, I have been really stressed out lately; a lot of stuff has been going on and didn't feel the drive to write. **

**This chapter was slightly hard for me to write, mainly Hidar's part. I think it's because I'm attached to him since I'm the one that created him. I can't help it though—I just hate seeing him in pain, my poor baby. So, obviously you're going to find out who kidnapped Hidar and also,**** Tiljor and the boys start their journey (that will of course be filled with angsty, jealously-related drama here and there) to Dawnstar... That'll be fun.**

**Anyway, I'll stop my constant rambling and let you read. I hope you like it! :)**

* * *

_I turn away from what you are_  
_Denying all that you have given_  
_I find a place that's safe and far_  
_In time all will be forgiven_

_If I try to get away_  
_How long until I'm free?_  
_And if I don't come back here_  
_Will you remember me?_

_—_"Remember Me" by The Birthday Massacre

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-One**

Before Tiljor knew it, it was already morning. Finrir had already packed up his bedroll from the ground, obviously waking up earlier than everyone else, although whether he slept or not was debatable. Til's eyes blinded him with a blurry gray, the colors around him coming together in a painting of bold trees that popped against the early morning sky. He rose up, his muscles feeling tight with a strain of relaxation. Rubbing his fingers through his dark chocolate hair, he listened to the sounds of Hedlir fussing furiously with his bedroll, tossing and turning the furs with little hesitation.

"Gods!" the Nord called out in frustration. Out of sudden alert, Finrir and Tiljor worriedly looked at him, however their rise in anxiety shifted to chuckles and wide grins. Telji had turned a blind eye to the boys, instead double checking the weapons that hung from his belt, from the smallest knife to the iron sword that sat patiently in its sheath.

"What's the matter, Hed?" Fin asked, however it came out as more of a statement than an actual question. He glanced over at Til, arching a specious brow at his kinsman, who had risen to his feet. The blonde Nord watched, almost as if he was overcome with interest, as Til grabbed his boots from over by the small circle of rocks that laid in the center of the light grass. He suddenly became mesmerized by the swift movements his friend had made, almost forgetting his previous question to Hedlir.

"My bedroll is attacking me," the redhead whined. His arms and legs became entangled in the furs, much to the amusement of the others. No one came to his rescue, instead leaving him to his mind-burning situation. "Fucking... Damnit!" he yelled, his voice echoing throughout the forest.

Hedlir's whines and inward groans became the background music against the silence, and usually Fin would've snapped his neck for it. However, Til had noticed his strange, quiet state staring back at him with enchanted eyes. Finrir had stayed hushful, allured by his kinsman's presence so much that he didn't even notice Til had been strangely looking back at him.

"Are you alright? Is there something on my face?" Tiljor pondered aloud, rubbing the skin on his face to follow his words. He took note of the tense alteration Fin had forced out, his white-blonde bangs falling into his eyes. It was as if he was trying to hide something, although there had been nothing to hide between them. Til knew his kinsman well, and immediately took the covering of his eyes as a defense strategy.

"It's nothing," Fin hissed, prompting Til to step back with a bolt of rushed blood and a skipped beat of the heart. Fin acquired the stunned state of his brother Nord, his steel gaze softening and a jab of regret settling in his stomach. Curling his lips in an attempt to appear innocent, he simply stated, "Let's just get going. My balls are going to fall off from the cold."

His humorous statement, perhaps shot out of the air, brought upon a slight grin onto Til's pale face. Finrir's snapping had been placed into history, burning itself into Til's mind. He had been used to Fin's querulous personality that had made him unique from every other being. He had always been the dominant one of the old group, always clashing heads with Bilen for control. Til never knew why though; it was as if the two had only remained cordial with each other for the sake of everyone else. He felt the irrational part of his mind sneer at such a thought, looking onwards as Fin had glanced away from him.

_He's hiding, _Tiljor mused compellingly._ He makes everyone think he's tough, but he's just a lost little boy. _

The trail of his mind stopped in its tracks when he heard Fin's voice, "Where exactly are we going?"

"Dawnstar!" Hedlir exclaimed happily, finally freeing himself from the clutches of his bedroll. He skipped over to the two, eyeing Til's slight smirk that emphasized itself on his face. A silence crept up onto the three, becoming tense along with Finrir's implacable glare towards the nearly neon sight of fiery red hair. _Take a deep breath, and he will ignore you, _Hed thought before blurting out without much mind, "There's something I need to finish there. Tiljor said we could go." _And what exactly do you need to finish, _Hedlir? _You already know how this is going to end. _

Hedlir excused the voice buried deep within his mind, suddenly feeling himself drawn into a headlock with a rumble of laughter. Til had chuckled as he held his kinsman's head close to his chest, setting his hand to ruffle the bright, thick locks of hair. "And that's exactly where we're going, you big ball of red hair!" he called out, listening to Hed's huffs and choked-up laughter.

Finrir watched with an unmoving stare as the two Nords playfully left each other's grasp. Something had proclaimed a poweful enmity inside of him, boiling with a sting of rage as Tiljor widely smiled at the redhead. He had pushed the urge to look away from his mind, watching with dangerously infuriated eyes as Hedlir punched Til on the shoulder. _Stay away from him, you fucking carrot-top bastard! _he mentally grumbled darkly. _Til belongs to me, not you. He will _always _be mine!_

"Alright, boys," Telji cleared his throat, wrapping his arm around Fin's shoulder. His boy winced naturally at his touch, however he attempted to keep his mouth shut about it. He knew his boy well, although he wouldn't admit that perhaps Tiljor knew him better than he did. Taking a moment to examine the lean build of his son, Telji glanced towards the white-blonde hair that was no doubt Neola's. He pushed the thought of her in the back of his mind before continuing, "Where to? I heard somethin' about Dawnstar."

"Yeah," Finrir growled, his teeth granulating against each other in a pure fury. "Fucking Dawnstar, just because _Hedlir _wants to go there."

As Telji gave a light shove towards his boy for his use of language, Til sighed lightly, his face expressing a ponderous state. Knowing Fin, he knew it was going to happen sooner or later. He never knew why Fin was like that either, a dubious jealousy no one around them could understand. _What does Hedlir think? _Tiljor thought to himself. _Nah, he probably just ignores it... which is a good thing. _He held his breath until he spoke to Finrir as calmly as he could, "Hed has something he wants to get done there. It's no big deal, brother."

"That's how it always is!" Fin snapped at his words. His father held him back with his arms across his chest, his empowering figure shadowing over Til and Hed. Hedlir had a strike of fear in the abysmal measure of his eyes, however Til showed no emotion in his washed-out expression. The lack of feeling the brunette displayed prompted Finrir to nearly question how his kinsman truly felt about him. He searched the icicles that made up the endless, yet beautiful irises of his brother Nord. "It's always what _Hedlir _wants, it's always what _Hedlir _needs! It's never about what _I _want!"

Tiljor remained emotionless, as steady as a statue. A mental smirk played in the darkest depths of his minds as he walked right past a fuming Finrir, walking off onto the road.

His steady steps towards the stone made Fin arch a brow, his breathing becoming shaky and almost lifeless. A pressure had been placed around the blonde's lungs as if someone had been suffocating him. The act of avoiding him and the pits of his anger had been brave, and usually he would've sped after the person to carry on the argument all to no avail. That time Fin didn't run after Til, instead containing himself in a proper manner.

_The bastard always speaks without thinking, _Tiljor thought. He stopped himself when he reached the road, taking a moment to admire the luxurious nature around him. His eyes gazed the red-orange birch trees that blew almost beautifully in the wind, the sky losing its purple grasp and gaining a fresh coat of baby blue. The Nord felt his hand absentmindedly rub the base of his neck, feeling out the solid structure of his collarbone, all in order to fill the desire to touch the familiar chain.

_...And I always act without thinking. _

"Tiljor," he heard a familiar voice say, wrapping itself in the air. Turning around without a second thought, he glanced into the pure olive waves of Fin's eyes. He immediately pulled away to look around him, however he could feel the pressure of his kinsman's gaze upon him. A hidden, deep animosity floated within Fin's eyes, and although Til forced himself to become oblivious to it, he couldn't help but notice the sudden scrunching of his kinsman's nose.

Til squared his shoulders, gathering up his slouchy posture. Avoiding eye contact, he cleared his throat and muttered gently, "What is it?"

Hearing mushy footsteps growing closer, Til turned around, his eyes stuck at the sight of Hedlir and Telji approaching them. Their faces had been plastered with smug looks, although Hed's eyes seemed to grow joyful against the dull laziness of Telji's. Tiljor watched from the corner of his eye the rancorous glare Finrir sent him, the feeling of a million shivers crawling on the structure of his spine playing with his trickled confidence. He stayed silent, instead turning a blind eye to the glare, focusing his attention on his kinsmen.

"So, we're heading to Dawnstar?" Telji asked, in which Fin replied with an echoing snicker.

"I... Yes, we are," Tiljor replied shakily, knowing in the darkness of his mind how Fin would react.

He had listened to Hedlir squeal excitably, smirking at the sight of Finrir rolling his eyes in annoyance. Something within him wanted to snap at Fin for a reason he didn't know. It made a strange feeling smack him, however he stayed stoic and led his kinsmen down the road. Til paid no attention to the beauty of the landscape around him, his eyes only averting to the bleakness of the stone road. He felt himself debate furiously over how to handle Fin, although he already knew he was used to his fierce snaps of heated opinions. _Just tell him to leave you alone, _the annoyed part of his mind spoke. _And what if he doesn't? You know how he is, _Til heard the rational part of his mind hiss.

A warm arm had been wrapped steadily around him, breaking him from the deep thoughts he had prompted himself to take part in. The flash of olive stunned his mind, his heart taking a beat away from all the rest. Closing his eyes for a mere moment, he breathed in deeply, his lungs filling up with a hot sting of anxiety.

"So," Hedlir spoke out, his voice airy and light like the fresh morning air. He wrapped his arm around Tiljor, overlooking his kinsman's paled features. The act of friendly affection had almost been perilous to commit, and the redhead could feel the icy stare Fin was most likely sending him. Nonetheless, he continued to a tense Til, "I remember the good ol' days when Fin-Fin didn't hate me so much."

His reminisce, although unnaturally loud, brought upon a slight smirk to Tiljor's lips._ He always didn't like you, _he thought to himself. _I guess he didn't want to disrupt the peace. _Bringing himself to look into the deepness of Hed's eyes, Til wrapped his arm around his kinsman's shoulder. Staring off into the river, he heard himself say meekly, "And _I _remember the good ol' days when Fin-Fin wasn't my unwanted lover."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

The clasped pair turned around to find Finrir sending one of his infamous death glares to Tiljor. The brunette immediately cursed himself in a silent beratement for speaking at a rate that obviously caught Fin's attention. Hedlir felt himself chuckle at the sight, not even earning himself one of the fierce glares. Til, however, began to speed up his thoughts to figure what to say. A sudden strike of apprehension placed itself in his gut, knowing in the back of his mind that Fin would lose his head soon. For a few moments, it remained silent, a choking pulse that had replaced the carefree soul that binded itself to the wind. As tense as it had become, Hed purposely bumped his shoulder into Til's, a wide smile dancing on his face.

"Are you saying that you don't love me?" Fin said, his voice growing stronger against the air as he examined Til's dumbfounded expression.

"Wait a second, what's going on here?" Telji interrupted, waving his hand in the air. "I sense a brotherly romance blossoming."

"How _could _you?!" Finrir had begun to yell, a vocal call filled with stupefaction. Tiljor had remained quiet, already having knowledge that interrupting Finrir was something only the foolish could attempt. "How could you _say _something like that?! How could you _disrespect_ me like that?!" he continued, his sharp words only hushing his kinsmen to a halt. Anger had boiled up in his stomach, plummeting his heart down to the ground. _'Unwanted lover', _his mind taunted. _He loves me, of course he does. He didn't say that, he _couldn't _have said that!_

"Oh, Fin," Tiljor said in a slow, childlike voice. His gentle approach threatened to provoke Finrir, who had always been on the line of fiery altercations. The blonde's eyes had caught on fire, a reluctant show of animosity that Til struggled to avoid. Feeling the fresh bolt of air closing in on him, the brunette continued with his pastoral use of words, "Of course I didn't mean _that! _You know how _much _I _adore _your company!"

Listening to the laugh Hed let out, Tiljor didn't let go of the stare he initiated with Fin. The blonde had a bewildered look on his ivory face, a type of underlying disregard to Hedlir flickering within the dull atmosphere of his eyes. It was always there, Til realized; it had never ceased, it had never faded away. Even in the early days, Til knew Fin had a problem with Hed even though he kept it to himself and did nothing different. Then again, he was always like that—always having that self-made need to push everyone away from him, all except for Til.

"Are you making fun of me now?" Finrir countered, his stance becoming nearly offensive. "I _refuse_ to be replace with some rat-headed dimwit like Hedlir!" he yelled again, his words spilling out without a thought. He pressured his nails into his palm, his skin becoming white with fury.

"Woah," Hed spoke slowly, raising his free hand almost as a way to comprehend what his kinsman called him. "Does anyone here see a rat sitting on my head? And Finrir, you shouldn't do that with your knuckles; they're going to burst sooner or later."

Fin blinked, his astonishment circling around his brothers' careless dismissal towards his feelings. Watching Til and Hed laugh like small children, he pointed his finger at the brunette, "You are unbelievable, Tiljor! I thought you cared about me!"

Hearing Telji mutter something along the lines of 'Can we continue walking, please?', Tiljor's usual frozen and silent demeanor transformed into one that had been confused by Finrir's words. "Why, my _darling," _he said teasingly, gaining himself an inaudible chuckle from Hedlir, who buried his face into his kinsman's shoulder. Watching the fire spread onto Finrir's expression, Til continued with his badgering tone of voice, "You are just the _sweetest _little thing! Of _course _I care about you!"

"Okay," Telji called out, thankfully giving Fin's attention away from Til and onto him. "Let's get going, shall we? We've got a long way to go from here, you fat-ass horkers."

Til and Hed held onto each other as if they were the best of friends, whispering to each other and laughing, oblivious to the world around them. Finrir's gaze followed the two with a blaze, his heart taking a blistering speed that filled his chest with circumspect emotion. They were playing with him, with his feelings and burning resentment. Yet Tiljor's words were becoming something of a love that was only growing solid. Laughs and words filled with ears with disdain, and he could feel his nose scrunching in a mental habit.

"Finrir!"

His eyes averted up to Tiljor, who had spread his other arm out to him. Arching a brow at the sight, he listened to his kinsman say with a warm and soft feeling tingling inside of him, "Come here, brother. You look a little lost."

As if he had been commanded by a king, the blonde shifted over to Til, who wrapped his arm around him in a trio of closeness. Fin did the same, holding onto the brunette, although it was more out of fitting in than a personal matter. "Don't be so upset," Til said, his voice almost a whisper to his kinsman. "I was joking, brother. I didn't actually mean it."

In a swift, yet bold rush of movement, Fin pushed away Tiljor. A firestorm had been lingering within the depths of his eyes, and Til somehow tried to deny his choice of words wasn't the best. Nearly stumbling from the bash of strength Finrir transmitted to shove him away, Til regained his footing with the quick reflex of Hedlir's limbs. A pressure had been applied to his shoulder, sinking in to the veins and muscles of his flesh.

Finrir leaned in a bit closer towards him, a savage being taking over what had once been his kinsman. "Hedlir will never love you the way _I_ do," he whispered, his voice a low growl that rumbled the very ground they stood upon.

Watching the blonde storm away with a gust of the wind, Tiljor remained a statue. A stab of fear overtook the usual emotionless state of his eyes, suddenly resuming the part of his mind that concentrated on the deep thoughts that came in every so often. He had suddenly pieced together words—fire, bold, overbearing, powerful. _Finrir is nothing but a child, _his conscience spoke. _He hides his pain, but he takes it out on everyone else. _It wasn't the Finrir he knew however, usually it had been just a temper flare at everyone else... but never him. He would never take his anger out on him, up until that moment.

That's when Tiljor realized he liked Hedlir better than Finrir... or at least he was starting to.

* * *

A cloak of black, a silent presence of the color was all he saw. He had long before gave up, surrendering himself grudgingly under their wing. The type of feeling it was, the type of defeat, was enough to freeze his limbs into stone and his blood into ice. He wasn't sure where they were taking him, the loud sounds of hooves clanking against the road filling his ears with disdain. He had attempted to sustain his urge to lash out at them with the reality that there were too many around him, guarding the carriage as if he was some sort of hard-worked prize.

That's what he was to them—a source of information, a danger to common society.

Their hands were strong enough to leave bruises, and it was obvious they had no intention of inspecting his well-being. Their voices had been carved out of pure ice, their words stinging him with orders and insults that snuck their way into their sentences. The heavy setting that he could feel around him buried itself into his mind, forcing him to understand what happened and what went wrong. His limbs trembled as he listened to their voices, some distant, some close by. His sense of sight had vanished for the time being, he came to realize, and instead he relied on his ears to help him understand the atmosphere around him.

A cold feeling settled in on his wrists, choking his skin and veins until someone could've sworn it was black and blue from the pressure. His feet shook on the ground, his position prompting him to feel vulnerable and lifeless before the voices around him. A flash of blue came before him in his mind, and he found himself breathing heavily to the memories of the bandit chief and his everlasting dark smile. The screams and attempts to pull the bandits away from him entered his mind from the depths of his heart, enough for him to crumble into small pieces.

Harsh hands were placed on the back of his head, and he felt the deft fingers remove the blindfold over his eyes. The darkness was lifted, a dull and musty setting being brought in instead. The cell walls were of a dark gray, a color that made his eyes burn and beg for a strike of color. It was larger than what he had in Windhelm, yet the walls closed in on him without any mercy. He felt his blood rush through him, another blow to his heart becoming palpable once more.

Their faces hit him the most. Their skin was gold, a shine that almost garnered hatred within him; their eyes were of an almond-shape, narrowing at him with a taught distinction of who he was. A woman was among them, her face showing her earnest need for the silence to continue. Her features were sharp, her fierce amber eyes having a darkened undertone hidden within them. Her golden blonde hair had been neatly combed, placing her appearance as a praticed professional who had experience in the field of torture and interrogation. A smirk came at the corner of her thin lips as she crossed her arms before him, staring deeply into his eyes with little emotion showing in her swift movements.

"I see you made it out alive, _Hidar," _she remarked snidely, resting her shoulder on the wall of the cell. Something in the way she had said his name made his skin crawl with the same feeling he encountered with the bandits. Her vocal style was clipped, high and mighty with pride and self-assured importance. She made no hesitation in continuing with her icy words, "I am First Emissary Elenwen of the Thalmor, the _rightful _rulers of Tamriel. If you are smart, you will understand and follow what we tell you."

The Altmer sent a curt nod to one of the soldiers dressed in a beautiful golden armor, a type Hidar had never seen before. The soldier's fist gripped on an iron mace, the sharp metal acuminating in the dim lighting of the candles that danced on the walls. With a heavy and steady motion, the soldier walked over to Hidar, looking down at him with a heartless expression written on his face. Another burdening motion it was as the mace swung itself across Hidar's chest, a yelp escaping his lips as the metal tore the flesh. Blood trickled down his skin, his breath magnified as it passed through his teeth.

"I'm glad you understand," Elenwen's biting voice spoke again to his weakened state. "I read you are Ulfric Stormcloak's very _precious _son. The 'Butcher of the East', they call you?"

"Y-Yes," Hidar muttered out, his voice shaky from the stinging pain that revolved around his chest. He lowered his head, suddenly finding himself interested in the floorboards as tears found their way into his eyes.

"How very interesting, my dear boy," the Emissary whispered in a thought, her eyes glancing from the bloodied scar on Hidar's chest to the soldier beside her. "Now, start talking. You have some information about your father and I didn't waste my resources trying to track you down for nothing."

Hidar remained silent.

The soldier hit him again, that time in the stomach. The Nord let out a more fiercer scream, feeling the intense second when the blades of the mace sliced the flesh. The stinging had intensified, gathering in on his torso as he felt the drips of fresh blood crawl down his skin. The front of his body appeared to have been attacked by a starving wolf, almost as if the teeth had sunk in unsuccessfully into Hidar's flesh. His shaking limbs grew restless, a primal urge to tear them apart in an orchestra of blood and bone.

"You're nothing but a piece of dirt in this land," the soldier spat onto a weeping Hidar. "When we're finished, no one will be able to recognize your pathetic face."

Sobs filled the air, a stab in the stomach the soldier's words were. Elenwen cleared her throat in a manner that would disgust the average citizen before she spoke, her voice only making the air oppressive, "Would you be surprised if I told you that your father, the now _High King, _was once in your very position—"

"N-No," the Nord choked out, his voice nothing but a shallow call held up in the column of his throat. That's when it hit him—the warmth and comfort within his father's voice coming onto him like a vortex of nostalgia. As the rivers of crimson flowed down his skin, a dense fire lodged in his throat. He felt the tears sting his eyes, tasting the salty moisture on his lips. The poignant sensation didn't leave his flesh, as he looked down towards the floor once again. "My father didn't do _shit _for me!" Hidar yelled, his voice strained and hoarse. "He was more concerned about _Skyrim _and her fucking _people _than he was about _me! _Galmar was my papa, Galmar was the one who raised me, not _Ulfric, _the fucking _High King!"_

The Emissary walked over to the soldier beside her, leaning in towards him. "Beat him until he talks," she whispered fiercely, almost as if she _wanted _Hidar to hear her. "Make sure he doesn't die. He's got information about Ulfric's _future_ plans, and he's useless if he doesn't tell us."

The soldier nodded, his face frozen in a steel hatred. His hand tightened around the hilt of the mace, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. He immediately became obedient to Elenwen's order, walking over to the sobbing Nord. Another strike in the chest, forcing out a painful scream from Hidar. The sting of the mace cut right through him, like hot water on a fresh wound. The ringing sound of the scream echoed throughout the Embassy, a sudden longing for Ulfric's hug gravely replaced by the cold measure of reality.

Hidar had never been cast into such physical abuse before, only to have the bandits place their hands on him had matched it. His weeping state only intensified, his eyes not leaving the floor. He couldn't comprehend what had been happening before him, a type of evil hidden within their eyes. Each hit that the mace gave way to granted another scream, a voice that had died down to nothing but a strained shriek. Every strike upon his skin fed him with a powerful sting, some hits more stronger than others, and some hits weaker than others. Only when every inch of the exposed skin Hidar had had been shaken with slices and blood did the soldier stop.

"I'll make sure your father won't even be able to recognize you," the soldier taunted. "Even better, I bet he is _very _proud of you."

_Papa, _Hidar thought desperately. The soldier's words made him quiver until he pratically dangled from the iron chains that locked him to the wall. He could feel the cold eyes gazing upon him, his skin growing frigid as his own blood sinked into his flesh. _I want my papa, I want my papa, I want my _papa!

"Papa," Hidar choked out, nearly inaudible to the air around him. The deep stinging sensation from the hits had died down, however he felt the darkening feeling of his old scars being re-opened and struck at. It was as if the soldier had paid attention to the fading bruises and scabs that had already been planted on his skin, and yet the dark blue eyes still lingered in the back of his mind. The voice of the bandit chief pierced him as he forced himself to listen to the orders he used to give him, the river of tears that stained his face only dripping down even more.

"So, I heard you don't like to forget things," the soldier's voice stabbed the tense atmosphere. His hands rubbed on the hilt of a long whip, noteworthy of Hidar's attention. "Did you forget that you're Ulfric's son? He doesn't care about _you; _all you are is an _unwanted son."_

_I'm sorry, Papa. I'm sorry, I love you. _

Hidar felt a shock in his system as the soldier struck the whip across his face. The intense sting froze him, the thin cut from the torture weapon bleeding leniently from the gaps of the skin. His eyes went wide for a mere moment, the nerves buried within the depths of his flesh frantically biting with pain. The trembling breaths he took into his lungs became heavy as the soldier whipped him again. Each hit granted another aculeate pain, the blood that seeped through the whip's cuts dripping down onto his chin. His body had been spilled with blood, both dried and eagerly fresh. His limbs shook hysterically, his wrists straining against the iron bounds.

His mind grew gloomy and dark, and he knew he was left alone in his pain. He had been weighed down even more to know that Papa wasn't there to save him.


End file.
